Orders for home deliveries have fallen off since their peak a couple of months ago, when we were doing them full-time five days a week. But we still get a handful of calls asking us to deliver a brewing kit just across town or a cheese hamper out beyond the Olad Brae.

So it wasn’t a surprise when the phone rang and a south voice asked if we did deliveries. ‘Certainly’, I said, ‘What would you like?’

He reeled off a tasty selection of deli goods – pasta, olive oil, pesto and some parmesan. ‘No problem,’ I said. ‘We’re delivering on Tuesdays and Fridays just now, so I’ll take that out to you tomorrow. What’s your address?’

‘Ah,’ he said, ‘That’s a bit tricky. ‘If I describe what I see out of my window, would that help?’

‘It might, but just getting the address would be a lot easier.’

‘Off to the left there’s a big old house. Kind of spooky looking.’

‘Are you on Hoy? Is it Melsetter?’

‘And right in front of me is a great big beach. It has sand and stones on it, if that helps.’

‘It doesn’t really narrow it down,’ I said. ‘Can’t you just tell me the address?’

‘Not really. But I can tell you that it’s just along from those underground houses, you know, a kind of Teletubby land, but stone age.’

‘Okay, that’s Skara Brae. And the big house must be Skaill House. Are you staying there?’

‘No, I keep telling you, I’m not staying in a house: I’m in a campervan. Hired it for the week –wonderful holiday!’

‘Okay, so you’re in a campervan in the car park at Skaill, and you want me to deliver to you there tomorrow?’

‘Wonderful service! Six o’clock suit you?’ And he hung up.

I was heading out to the West Mainland anyway on Friday, and it’s always lightsome to have a look-see on a fine day. So there was a song in my heart (I think it was ‘I’ve Been Everywhere’ by Hank Snow) as I headed Skaill-wards after my Birsay delivery.

I slowed and glanced into the carpark at the side of the kirk. As I’d expected, it was empty: most likely, Campervan Man would be down by the toilets. One minute later I was there, only to find he wasn’t. Maybe he’d gone to the carpark at Skara Brae. Funny place to park, but you never know. I drove on. No, he wasn’t there either, it was empty too.

I stopped and killed the engine. What now? I checked my phone: luckily he’d called me on my mobile, and I still had his number in Recents. After a long series of rings, he finally answered. I could hear wind buffeting in the background.

‘Hello!’ he shouted. ‘Is that you, Jemima?’

‘No!’ I shouted back, then realised I didn’t have to shout. ‘It’s Duncan from the deli,’ I said. I’m at Skaill, trying to deliver your order.’

‘But I’m not there!’

‘I can see that,’ I said. ‘Where are you?’

‘I’m looking at the puffins!’ he roared.

‘Yes, but whereabouts?’ I hoped he wasn’t going to say Noup Head.

‘I don’t know the name of it, but there’s a tower on the edge of the cliff that looks like a giant chess piece.’

‘That’s the Kitchener Memorial,’ I said. ‘You’re at Marwick Head. Don’t move.’

I started the van and headed back the way I’d just come. Five minutes later I was pulling into the memorial carpark, right next to a bright orange Volkswagen camper. Quite a stylish vintage vehicle, even if it had led me a merry dance through Sandwick.

Its driver was nowhere in sight, so I got out my phone. ‘I’m at your van,’ I said. ‘Where are you ?’

‘It’s amazing up here. There’s these big white birds that just dive straight down into the sea.’

‘Gannets.’

‘And these other big black ones that fly back and forth just above the waves. I think the white ones are trying to spear the black ones, but they keep missing and crashing into the water.’

‘Skarfies,’ I said, ‘The gannets are not trying to…ach, never mind. What’ll I do with your delivery? You still have to pay me, remember?’

‘Just put the food in the van .’ he said, ‘It’s open. And I’ll come by the shop tomorrow to pay. I have to be in town anyway.’

This diary appeared in The Orcadian on 6th August. Other diaries will appear weekly. I am posting them in this blog a few days after each newspaper appearance, with added illustrations., and occasional small corrections or additions.

In this case I’d like to correct the slightest misapprehension that the Campervan Man in the photo is in any way connected to the Campervan Man in the story. The man in the photo is called David, and he runs our main Italian food supplier, Seggiano.

Anyone who has enjoyed our Italian honey, our tongue biscuits, our bronze-die pasta, our excellent (vegan) pesto or even our truffle pecorino has David to thank. He came to see us last week, in an orange camper van, with some samples of new lines. We were very happy to see him, and happy to ply him with some great Orkney produce in exchange including fantastic herring and halibut from Pierowall Fish and bere bannocks from Rendall’s Bakery.

Yes, he was driving a campervan full of Italian goodies, but no, we did not have to chase him around the West Mainland: he came to see us in the shop! Which just goes to show you shouldn’t believe everything you read in this blog - but if you have got this far you probably worked that out already.

Diary of a Shopkeeper, 2nd August