(In which our intrepid sailors brave the gales and make a safe haven in Scotland, only to be led astray by Irishmen).
Much debate on the harbourside with the crew of Celtic Dancer on whether to try to beat the impending gale or commit to a probable further 48hours at least in Ballycastle.  The Met Office bulletin from 0300 was predicting gales in our waters 'later', which in Met-speak conventionally means 12hours, so in theory we would be in Port Ellen before the storm hits. We all made the same decision - take the chance and be holed up somewhere different at least - so we skipped breakfast and Vega slipped out of the harbour at 0800 into the confused overfalls and cross-eddies of Rathlin Sound, with around 15knots of easterly wind. In view of the narrow time window we elected to motor, and we rounded the spectacular Bull Point to the west of Rathlin and set a course of 013deg for 20 miles to Islay.  The wind freshened as we went and the sea state (although in Met Office terms 'moderate') was what we would describe as 'lumpy' and very uncomfortable and difficult to steer all the way there.  By the time we made the approach to the pontoons in Port Ellen there was a vicious cross -wind, and although there were plenty spaces on the fingers, we were predictably in some difficulty.  This was spotted by other yachties as we approached, who clearly understood the problems, and stood by to take our lines.  Benj made the first approach, but felt we were just too far off the pontoon for Cate to step off safely, and backed off quickly to circle round and try again.  This was in retrospect a bad decision, as it would have been quite feasible for the waiting sailors to take our lines, and we would have been blown onto the finger.  (I have to record that that was pointed out to me later by Cate, who had been in a much better position to make that call than I.)  Two tight circles later and Vega was blown inexorably side on to two large fishing boats berthed alongside the harbour wall, and we had to rely on the combined brute force of both of us and three of the helping yachties to push us off enough to go round once more and make the final approach, doing it the way I should have done first time.  We eventually were safely alongside and tied up with double warps in anticipation of the gale to come, and heaved sighs of relief: at least we were here, in Scotland even, and Benj celebrated that fact with a wee dram of Old Pulteney with our lunch aboard.
We went walkabout in the village (two hotels, two Spars, a tiny shop and what looked to us like a permanently closed pub, without even a handle on the doors) as far as the headland overlooking the bay, where the Cal-Mac Ro-Ro ferry was loading to depart.  The road is lined with terraces of white-painted cottages, some in better repair than others, and we did a little provisioning at the Spar and took some pictures of the sun-drenched harbour, the calm before the storm.  We both enjoyed a cuppa and an afternoon nap, and after Evening Prayers went in search of the White Hart Inn, which a sign told us offers showers for £3, including towel, as there are no actual facilities provided by the harbour/marina.  In the lounge bar we met several crews, most of them watching Spain vs Ireland in the Euro football on TV. As we had our Guinness/tonic Spain scored twice making it 4-0, and a table of four N Irish sailors said it had all been going well until we arrived, for which we could only apologise!  On our way we had met a sailor from our neighbouring boat, who said he was on his way to the 'whisky pub', which was the one we believed to be defunct earlier.  He assured us he had been in there until 0130 that morning, so it was very much alive and well.  We walked on down there, and found the small bar and lounge buzzing with life, with much loud banter from locals and visitors, one of whom, showing little sign of consciousness, we watched slowly fall off his stool!  The description of a 'whisky bar' was very apt, as there were scores of different malts on display, and a large printed folder of types and prices on the bar.  Benj opted for a glass of Kilchoman, which was a new one on us, and indeed a very new brand altogether, distilled and bottled in a 'boutique' distillery on the island using all local produce, the first ever vintage being in 2004.  The four sailors from Skerries who had been in the White Hart came in and we joined their table.  Much banter and good 'craic', several drams and Guinnesses and a duet of Rocky Road to Dublin by Benj and their skipper later, we made our way home at 0130, having now missed dinner as we had missed breakfast.  The gale was just arriving as we left, and the boat rocked and howled all night, and indeed all the next day, so we were very pleased to be tucked up safe and (almost) warm.