This is the sort of place I like. There you are trogging along through glorious but pretty scantily inhabited country, trying not to pretend that you're on your way to call on Sir Paul McCartney, but remembering the wonderful kippers you had for breakfast and wondering whether it shall be lobster or a 21 day aged piece of some late bovine inhabitant of these parts for dinner tonight, when wham! there it is in front of you.

Described in The List Magazine as "a tiny retro caravan", and sometimes described as The Crab Shack,which is a very accurate description, the atmosphere is that of a sort of turbo charged al fresco event, with the local fowls wandering in and out, and a general air of timelessness begins to take over.

Before anyone can say "would you like a wee refreshment" you are into one of their wholemeal crab rolls, or relishing a plate of langoustines whose association with the surrounding sea can only have been very recent. After which there is really only one dessert that will pass muster and it has to be Sophie's home-made orange cake. Now all I know about Sophie is that she can certainly knock up an impressive cake, and her brother has a smokery on nearby Arran. Then I think of the yolks of fresh duck eggs and the glass of wine that have gone into the cake and in a fit of absent-mindedness order another helping.

Don't go in the winter or on Saturdays at any time - that's when they get a break and to judge by the custom they more than earn it.