It’s reels on wheels as Hollywood hits the Highlands

The damp breath of toe-tapping Highland chatter is all around. David Chiffers is talking so incessantly about Top Gear and cars and engines and Jeremy Clarkson that his young voice is in danger of exploding. Along with my ears. His mother, Annette, looks over and smiles. Then she takes yellow ticket stubs from a bunch of children trudging up the stairs behind her with eyes the size of oatcakes. Annette, the usherette. She laughs at the absurdity of it all. I’m standing inside an articulated lorry in a picturesque village on the isle of Skye watching a gaggle of stubby-fingered youngsters clasp an assortment of sticky sweets. One little chubster chomps heartily on the edge of his super-sized, choco-fudge-munch thingy. “Easy there, Augustus Gloop,” I mutter, “before you get sucked up into that pipe.” Chomp. The Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory reference is lost on him.