I was standing by the sink, washing my hands with a bar of lavender soap, when the thought flashed into my head: my mother would not be happy if she knew about this.

To be honest, I thought as I dried my hands on an embroidered towel,  I wasn’t too sure about the situation myself. It went against everything I’d been taught growing up. And yet – I glanced in the mirror to check my hair – the expression ‘needs must’ came to mind. I just hadn’t been sure what else to do.

I grabbed my backpack from the floor and opened the bathroom door a crack to peek into the hallway. The hallway of a stranger’s house.

Because that is where I was. I was in the house of Someone I Did Not Know. A lady I met two minutes ago on the street. A nice lady. A kind lady. A lady with a lilting Highland accent and twinkling blue eyes. But a stranger nevertheless. I was in a stranger’s house.

It all comes, I thought, venturing outside to find the stranger sitting in her car waiting to give me a "run into town", from liking tea too much. I shouldn’t have bought that second cup of tea.

"Thanks very much," I said, getting into the car and handing her back the keys to her front door. "It’s very kind of you."

About ten minutes before I decided to shun the rules of stranger danger, I’d stepped off the train at Plockton station, expecting to find myself in a little village “on the sheltered bay of Loch Carron”. That’s what Google had said anyway, when I’d looked it up the night before.

What I soon discovered though, much to my dismay, was that this train station was nowhere near the village. It was at the top of a hill, in the middle of nowhere. No signs around to point the way.    

Oh help, I thought, walking in small steps towards the main road. Oh bother.

The embarrassing fact of the matter was this: owing to drinking a large mug of tea before catching the train that morning, and then two more cups from the trolley while I sat admiring the passing scenery, I was now, most unfortunately, most uncomfortably, just about ready for bursting. And I had no idea where I was.

Five minutes into my aimless wander downhill, I came across a group of houses and noticed a white-haired lady coming out her front door carrying a bunch of plant pots. I sped up.

"What if she’s a murderer?" my mind warned. "What if she’s a robber?"

"Hello there!" I called out, too desperate to suspect the worst. "Excuse me."

The lady looked round. She was heading round the back of her car to put the flowers in the boot.

"Hello…?" she said, blinking.

"Hi," I said, walking closer. "I’ve just come off the train and I’m not completely sure where I’m going – can you tell me which direction the town centre is?"

I prayed it was close by. I wasn’t confident I could walk much further.

"It’s straight down that way," the lady said, motioning towards the hill. She looked at me kindly, but she seemed slightly puzzled. "It’s about three quarters of a mile though..." she said.

"Oh right." My heart sank. "I see."

I smiled my thanks at her and was just about to turn away, when panic washed over me again and I asked,

"Do you know if there’s a toilet nearby?"

There was a funny little moment before she let go of her plant pots and invited me into her house, when the two of us looked right at each other and decided, with a nod of the head, to trust one another.

When I waved goodbye to her a little while later, it struck me how travelling on your own forces you to make decisions like that. You have to be on your guard, yes. But at the same time, almost paradoxically, you have to let go of the notion that everyone’s a threat. You have to be willing to accept the kindness of strangers.

All very true, I thought, stepping into the café where Liz, the stranger, had dropped me. But I think I’ll stay away from tea till I get back home.

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