THE people at Lonely Planet have finally cottoned on to something we’ve known all along … Bonnie Scotland is very bonnie indeed.

The travel guide publisher last week named the Highlands and Islands as one of the top regions in the world for travellers in 2019, listed among its top 10 Best in Travel destinations.

Featuring fifth on the list, the guide describes the Highlands and Islands as “one of the wildest, least inhabited and most scenic parts of Europe”. Fine unless you’re a goat, I suppose.

It gives special mention to the North Coast 500 route, which has been compared to the US’s Route 66. Stretching more than 500 miles, it was developed as a way of bringing visitors to remote parts of the Highlands. The route has attracted 29,000 more visitors since its launch in 2015. Given the midgies in the summer and the rain in the … well, summer, visitors would be advised to keep the hoods up on their convertible Cadillacs.

The Highlands and Islands were also commended for their “innovative and fast-developing” accommodation sector.

I’m glad things have moved on from our last trip to a Highland hotel. It was a family affair: Mum, Dad, Wean and Dug. We’d taken advantage of a weekend deal. On reflection it did seem too good to be true.

We arrived on a sunny, crisp November afternoon. Key here is

that N word. Scotland didn’t do

out-of-season too well back then … not when all the bouncy Antipodeans had packed up their big white smiles in their backpacks and resumed their travels round the globe.

A reluctant welcome was countered by the beautiful views from the hotel, which had just been refurbished, albeit in that care-home chic style of décor. Lots of pastels and florals. Not very Highland, but fresh enough.

A high point of our stay was the evening meal. We had soup. Can’t go wrong there, surely, and it was pleasant enough, but let down by the meanest slice of pan bread that accompanied it. Worse … our fellow diners were fair gorging on warm crusty rolls with their soup. We asked nicely, very quietly, if we could have some too. Please. We were told, loudly, that our (subtext: sad, budget) deal did not include warm, crusty bread. Just pan. Limp pan. We felt duly chastised, lowered our heads and supped.

The main course was bound to be better. Alas, the fish hadn’t been landed anywhere near the harbour on the hotel’s doorstep, or anytime recently, and the spaghetti bolognaise turned out to be spaghetti carbonara. Served with neeps and tatties. Novel.

After the dinner ordeal, we reckoned we deserved a nightcap. We put Dug and Wean to bed and proceeded to the bar. It was empty, our fellow residents presumably tucked up in bed trying to sleep off their crusty rolls.

We ordered a dram and enquired when the bar closed.

“Whenever you two drink up,” was the reply.

Ah, such Highland hospitality.

Obviously, Scottish tourism has made progress since then. But beware weekend deals in winter that seem too good to be true. They probably are.