Talk of ‘going green’ and reducing the carbon foot print is doing our home grown tourism the world of good. Suddenly, there is nothing more fashionable than popping down to Cornwall for a surf or borrowing a country pile from the Big House Company and filling it with a bunch of friends for the weekend.

The days when we were restricted by dodgy B&Bs and hotels named after someone’s aunt are long gone, as boutique style can also now be found in the most unassuming of places; even in a little known island off the Scottish coast. Getting there, however, is anything but green.

‘Hebridean Chic’ sounds like something cooked up by a spin doctor at the Scottish Tourist Board. Surely, it’s an oxymoron gone mad. This bizarre combination of words has driven me to discover whether they can indeed co-exist. Planes, trains, automobiles and wobbly water craft later, we finally arrive in Jura’s main town - Craighouse. It’s night when we arrive, so any breathtaking views are cloaked by darkness, the only sound coming from the tide lapping the sheckled shore. So far the ‘chic’ part of the descriptive is eluding us.

Upon first impressions it doesn’t feel as though much has progressed since the seventies, although I am starting to see that this is part of the experience and the adventure. Our expectations are finally met when we step inside Jura lodge, located at the Jura Whisky Distillery, also the island’s biggest employer. The lodge’s exterior is relatively nondescript, however the interior is Braveheart’s Boudoir plus a wee dram of Bambi Sloane; the eclectic American designer credited with styling Jura. It’s rustic yet luxurious; it’s masculine yet sensitive, it’s bold but comfortable. It feels like a tweed jacket with velvet lapels.

Our enthusiasm for the lodge is only overcome by hunger, so we dump our luggage and saunter over the road to the Jura Hotel and Restaurant; also the only restaurant in town. Our entrance is met with stony silence, as we are inspected by the locals. This tumble-weed moment clearly shows the rarity with which Londoners ‘tear it up’ in Jura. Caution soon becomes curiosity and we are soon engaged in cheerful banter. We sink into a cosy booth and order steak and ale pie with plenty of onion rings, taking great pleasure from the local beer. To our delight the pies did not disappoint; oodles of flaky pastry, tasty gravy and tender cuts of meat. The pub has no pretensions, it’s typical of a seaside village with plenty character and old school appeal.

The following morning, we head of for the Corryvrechans, a remote range of mountains that form the Northern part of Jura. Quite typically for a group of ‘mini-breakers’ from London, we’re not well equipped for a four mile hike across the wet, heathery highlands of the island. Remarkably, the one Scotsman among us is wearing trainers. After a forty minute drive we’re met by our gillie, who clearly thinks we’re a bunch of ill prepared yuppies. Of course he’s right, but we manage to convince him that we’re up to the task ahead.

We ditch our hire car and scramble into his trusty Defender for the cross-country drive to his remote house, from where we set off on our four hour excursion. Gusty winds and brief showers don’t hinder the experience. The Corryvrechans provide an impressive canvas where strokes of colour smudged with sunlight offer an unlikely masterpiece. Gillies are renowned for their stories and ours is no let down. Filled with local folklore, tales of George Orwell and those who perished challenging the mighty Whirlpool of Corryvrechan drive us on, toward the promise of tea and biscuits.

It transpires that Orwell nearly died whilst visiting the Whirlpool of Corryvrechan - apparently the biggest and most dangerous whirlpool in Europe – during his stay on Jura. He spent some considerable time on the island whilst writing 1984, enjoying the isolation. It’s a story told with some excitement by locals on Jura, as visitors will surely find out.

Tired and hungry, we return to the lodge in time for a delivery. Eager to take advantage of the local catch, I had ordered some crab. Expecting just a couple of nippers, we were overwhelmed to find four lobsters and eight crabs awaiting our arrival.

With five spacious ensuite bedrooms, some with old Victorian baths, an elegant drawing room and an enormous open plan living, dining and kitchen area, the lodge is designed for entertaining. The thoughtful absence of technology ensures that wannabe popstars and Eastenders don’t spoil the experience, leaving more time to conjure up gastronomic feasts.