At last, at last it was time to go home: home for a niggardly long weekend after several weeks of schooling. How I looked forward to these escapes from the noise and inconvenience of the hostel to the peace and pleasures of the Island of Coll.They always seemed so long in coming.

The hostel matron woke me at five thirty in the morning and I dressed and went downstairs. The common room was empty and silent. It felt strange standing in a room which was almost always filled with people - laughing, screaming, talking and fighting. I had my breakfast - cereal with sour milk from the night before - and then the matron called out, "We'd better go now or we'll miss the boat."

I collected my bags and went out to the minibus. The streets close to the hostel were deserted as if there were no one left in the world except me and the matron but as we neared the centre of town there were more signs of humanity. It was growing light and I could see a lot of the town as we drove to the ferry. The train sat at the station and hissed like a huge snake stalking its prey.

I said goodbye to the matron and walked towards the gangway. The floodlights over the carpark illuminated the desolation, increasing my sense of loneliness. A dull rumble came from the diesel engines of the boat. An idle Ca! Mac worker leaned against the waiting room door, smoking a roll-up while an old farmer, wearing a tweed flat cap, ascended the gangway with his collie ahead of me. I left my bags in the luggage rack and went up to the stern where I stood at the rail, watching the town recede into the distance as the boat left port, leaving a white frothy trail behind.

As we sailed past Maiden Island, I admired the sun rising in an orange sky, making large rays light the heavens. The water gently lapped against the wave-battered rocks and I gazed into the cool, green sea which reflected the ship sliding through the water. I felt like leaping from the boat into the water to swim through shoals of fish and to meet a sting ray gliding through the water.

Soon after, I went inside to sit and think about what I was going to do during the weekend at home. Maybe I would go for a huge walk round the island or I could go fishing for crabs. Whatever I did I intended to spend my time well. The inside of the boat was uninteresting: the floors were covered with carpeting with a nauseating pattern, an effect worsened in the bar by its pink seating.

The bar, however, had the most comfortable seats on the boat so I decided that this was where I would spend the voyage. I sat alone on a corner sofa from where I could see the old farmer leaning against the small pine bar, drinking a pint of stout. I lay down for a nap as I had not woken properly from my short night's sleep. At first, it was difficult to fall asleep as there were some noisy children running about but in the end this did not keep me awake.

I had a dream about getting off the boat and being met by my parents - and the hotel manager and his barmaid waiting to receive some bar furniture from the boat. When I got home I had a cup of coffee, then something to eat My Dad and I soon left for our small fishing boat but, when we got out of the car and looked out to sea, we saw large waves breaking on the shore so we returned home.

Suddenly, I felt someone shake me. It was a Cal Mac barman, who said, "Time to go mate."

I got up, grabbed my bag and ran to the gangway. I felt sick and angry because I was back where I had started - 'OBAN'. My throat dried, my eyes watered and my feet felt heavy. I thought I must still have been dreaming but it was true: I had gone to Coll and missed the stop.

And there was no other boat that weekend!