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Fifty years ago, I headed north for the first time. I’d dropped out of my university literature course – with the arrogance of youth, I thought I could read books anywhere. After a chance meeting in a Putney pub, I got a job as assistant cook in the Bird Observatory in Fair Isle. At that point, I didn’t even know where Fair Isle was. I came from Devon and hadn’t made it farther north than Durham. Scotland was unknown territory.

Of course, Fair Isle is part of the Shetland group and lies halfway between Shetland mainland and Orkney. That summer, I fell in love with the Northern Isles, with the romance of the isolation, the bleak beauty and the stories. Over the summer, I worked in the observatory with Alison, an Orcadian lass, who was there for her college holidays. “When you’ve finished your contract,” she said with the easy hospitality of islanders everywhere, “why don’t you come and stay? It’s kind of on your way home.”

It kind of was, and so I did. Alison lived with her parents in a solid house on the outskirts of Kirkwall. After my nine-month stay on Fair Isle – three miles long and a mile and a half wide, a scattering of crofts, 50 people and a lot of sheep and seabirds – Kirkwall felt like civilisation. There was a beautiful cathedral, a street of shops and bars, schools and a hospital. What struck me most, though, were the views. Much of Orkney mainland is low and green, and there are lochs so big that a stranger might think they were looking at the sea. So, there are long vistas from land to water and then land again. And more water. All under a huge sky.

At that time, Alison was more into partying than history, so I didn’t do a lot of sightseeing. We went to a dance at the Harray community hall, and I drank too much. There was little communication with the locals there. I’d become used to a Shetland voice, but an Orkney accent is quite different, lilting, musical, almost Welsh. I missed much of what was said to me.

Later, I got the plane to London, on my way home. If Kirkwall had seemed big, London with its towering buildings was overwhelming, and I scuttled west on the train to be on the coast again.

Over the years, I’ve come to know Orkney better. My husband and I went to Alison’s wedding in the cathedral. She was magnificent in a grand white dress, and she sailed up the aisle to Chariots of Fire. That evening there was another party, only a little more sedate than the Harray dance. Drink was passed round in the traditional Orkney way, in a wooden bowl, known as the cog, created for the purpose. I’m not sure what was in it, but it was warm, and it packed a punch.

At other times, we stayed with friends who lived in a converted chapel, looking down to the Stones of Stenness. Just as there’s always a view of water in Orkney, there’s always a reminder of its neolithic past, and I would come to explore the islands’ history more deeply when I was researching my latest novel, The Killing Stones.

Over time, we explored some of the smaller islands: Hoy with its dramatic cliffs, the tiny island of Papa Westray, home to the Knap of Howar, the oldest domestic stone dwelling in Northern Europe, and North Ronaldsay, where we stayed in the Bird Observatory’s accommodation, a reminder of the work that first took me north. North Ronaldsay is surrounded by a stone dyke, not to keep animals in, but to keep them out on the shore. The island sheep have adapted to living on seaweed, and perhaps because of that the meat is delicious.

For years though, Shetland was the focus of my trips north. One of my best friends lives there, and I was still writing the Jimmy Perez books, adapted for television as Shetland. In 2018, I decided to finish the series with the novel Wild Fire. I didn’t think I could find anything fresh to say about a community of only 23,000 people. I’d already killed too many of them.

The book ends with Perez and his partner moving south to Orkney. Perhaps I was influenced by a real police inspector, who covered both sets of islands and made the move. Certainly, I had no intention of writing about Perez again.

More recently, I felt a longing to go north again in my fiction, a kind of homesickness for the islands, for the dark winters and the bright, light summers. For the dramatic contrast between long, clear horizons and secrets hidden in small communities. I remembered that first image of Orkney, the stretches of land and water, and I realised it was time to go back. After all, to explore Perez’s new life, I’d have to stay there. It’s small details that bring a book to life, and Google research can’t help with that.

I stayed with my friend Stewart in his rather grand house on Orkney mainland. He became my driver, fixer and human research. I’d met him first when he worked for Orkney libraries. We’d had book-related adventures together – flying into North Ronaldsay in the eight-seater plane to celebrate the anniversary of a scheme that brought book boxes to islanders, and a crazy attempt to set a record by doing 24 events on 24 of the Northern Isles in 24 hours. We met the challenge, but only with the support of library staff in Orkney and Shetland, and the help of other writers.

My research visit took place in December 2023. It was clear, still and very cold. The frost didn’t melt all day. Stewart took me to the island of Westray, where he grew up and his family still farms. We stayed in the Pierowall Hotel, which features in the novel, and explored the site of the abandoned Noltland dig near Grobust Bay. I talked to his parents and to volunteers in the Heritage Centre. The book wouldn’t have been written without their help.

Back on Orkney mainland, we explored Kirkwall and Stromness and drove south across the Churchill Barriers, the causeways built between islands after a German U-boat entered Scapa Flow in 1939 and sank HMS Royal Oak. I was met everywhere with kindness and the most useful information. The pattern of the book was starting to take shape.

I ended my stay with an almost mystical experience. Maeshowe is a neolithic burial chamber. Entry is through a low, narrow tunnel positioned so that at the winter solstice, as the sun sets behind the hills of Hoy, the light floods in. There aren’t many entirely cloudless winter dusks in Orkney, but we were lucky enough to experience the magic. In the chamber, first a trickle of apparently liquid gold ran across the floor, then it grew wider and wider until it flooded the entire space with light. As the sun set, all was dark again.

I believe that setting is more than a pretty backdrop to the action. It informs character and moves the action of the plot. The Killing Stones couldn’t have been set anywhere other than Orkney, and I couldn’t have written it without spending time there with Orcadians.

The Killing Stones by Ann Cleeves is published by Pan Macmillan at £22. To support the Guardian, order your copy at guardianbookshop.com. Delivery charges may apply

The Hollywood sign has been blown up in movies, altered by pranksters to read “Hollyweed,” “Jollygood” and “Hollyboob” and saw Tom Cruise staple some Olympic rings on it to promote the 2028 Games in Los Angeles. Politicians have used it as a prop for commercials and mailers the way they do kissing a baby or eating a taco. Out-of-town goobers and locals alike hike up to various vantage points around it for a selfie or group shot.

But the crown for the worst stunt involving the monument to everything dreamy and wonderful about L.A. now lies with the Border Patrol.

Earlier this week, Gregory Bovino, the Border Patrol sector chief in charge of Trump’s long, hot deportation summer in L.A., posted on social media a photo of him and dozens of his officers posing on a patch of dirt in what looks like Lake Hollywood Park. Behind them is the Hollywood sign.

Arms are crossed. Hands are on belts. A few National Guard troops, one with a K9 unit, join in. None of the faces are masked for once. That’s because they didn’t have to be: Almost every one of them is blurred out.

“This is the team. They’re the ones on the ground, making it happen,” wrote Bovino, one of only two in the photo without a blurry face. “The mean green team is not going anywhere. We are here to stay.” And just in case readers didn’t get that la migra is hard, Bovino concluded his post with a fire emoji.

The faces of these supposedly brave men are more fuzzed out than Bigfoot in that famous footage from 1967.

Jeff Zarrinnam, chairman of the nonprofit in charge of maintaining the Hollywood sign, said “we have to stay neutral on these types of things,” so he didn’t offer his opinion on why a man who spent his summer terrorizing large swaths of the Southland would want to pose there. He did say the Border Patrol didn’t request special access to get closer to it as other politicians have in the past.

“It was probably a team-building effort for them, or a lot of them probably hadn’t seen it before,” he said. “It’s a symbol of America. Maybe that’s why they were standing up there. Who knows?”

L.A. Councilmember Nithya Raman, whose district is where the Hollywood sign stands, was not as charitable.

“To see an icon of this city used for an image designed to instill fear in Angelenos is chilling — particularly on the heels of Monday’s Supreme Court ruling which dealt a devastating blow to a city that has already faced so much hardship this year,” she said in a statement.

Bovino is expected to show up soon in Chicago to oversee the Border Patrol’s invasion of the Windy Cindy. His press team didn’t return my request for an interview or my questions about whether the photo was digitally altered — other than the face blurring and the ultra-sharp focusing on Bovino — and what he hoped to accomplish with it. The sign itself looks shrouded in fog, but who knows? The whole photo has a weirdness about it.

Nevertheless, Bovino’s smirk in the group portrait says it all.

This is a guy who came into town like so many newcomers before him wanting to make it big and willing to do whatever it took. Short, with a high fade haircut and nasal drawl, Bovino quickly became a constant on local news, selling himself as a mix of Andy Griffith (a fellow North Carolina native) and Lt. Col. Kilgore in “Apocalypse Now.”

He starred in slickly produced government-created videos portraying the Border Patrol as warriors on a divine mission to make the City of Angeles safe from immigrant infidels. He claimed local politicians were endangering residents with their sanctuary policies and gleefully thumbed his nose at a temporary restraining order barring indiscriminate raids like those, which the Supreme Court just ruled can start happening again. He was there, a cameraman filming his every strut, when National Guard troops in armed Humvees parked along Whittier Boulevard in July all so Border Patrol agents on horseback could trot through an empty MacArthur Park.

Bovino cheered on via social media when his “mean green team” rented a Penske truck to lure in day laborers at a Westlake Home Depot in August only to detain them. Even worse was Bovino showing up in front of the Japanese American National Museum with a phalanx of migra while California’s political class was inside decrying the gerrymandering push by President Trump. He pleaded ignorance on that last action when Gov. Gavin Newsom and others accused the sector chief of trying to intimidate them even as friendly media just happened to be there, just like they so happened to be embedded with immigration agents all summer as they chased after tamale ladies and day laborers.

Supporters played up his moves as if they were a master class in psyops, with grandiose codenames such as Operation Trojan Horse for the Penske truck raid and Operation Excalibur for the invasion of MacArthur Park. So Bovino and his janissaries posing in front of the Hollywood sign comes off like a hunter posing in front of his killed prey or a taunting postcard to L.A.: Thinking about you. See you soon.

But all of Bovino’s actions grabbed far more non-criminals than actual bad hombres and did nothing to make Southern California safer. Locals have countered his attempt at a shock-and-awe campaign with lawsuits, protests, mutual aid and neighborhood watches that won’t end. That resistance forced la migra to cry to their daddy Trump for National Guard and Marine backup, with an occasional call to the LAPD and L.A. Sheriff’s Department to keep away the boo birds who now track their every move.

Greg: hope you enjoyed your stay in L.A. Congrats — you made it! You’re the star of your own D-level Tinseltown production that no one except pendejos wants to see. You left L.A. as one of the most loathed outsiders since former Dodgers owner Frank McCourt. Stay gone. Wish you weren’t here.

B&Q has launched a £9.75 decoration that works as the perfect backdrop for your summer garden parties.

The simple but sweet ornament can turn any space into a romantic haven for a very affordable price.

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B&Q’s Artificial Grass Wall Panels – decorated with dahlia roses and hydrangeas – are the perfect choice if you want to spice up your garden or bring some warm colours into your indoor living spaces.

And at just £9.75, they’re an absolute bargain.

Each panel measures 40x60cm and contains a number of flowers tied to a grate.

The products, sold and shipped by Garden Sanctuary, aren’t stocked in B&Q stores but you can order them online.

This comes just days after shoppers raced to B&Q stores to grab the perfect budget friendly product to elevate their gardens and add instant privacy to their outdoor space.

There’s nothing worse than sitting outside with a glass of wine and a good book, only to realise that your nosy neighbour is peeking at you over the fence.

Putting up a large fence around your garden may seem like the obvious choice to keep away prying eyes, but this can be expensive – and can sometimes lead to disagreements with neighbours.

Paul CEO of plants and perennials specialists J. Parker’s revealed that one stylish way of creating privacy in your garden is by planting ornamental grasses.

He said: “Grasses can be used easily to create internal screens or hedges that flower beautifully, move in the slightest breeze, and need little care during the summer months.

“I recommend silvergrass or pampas grass to not only conceal your garden, but to introduce interesting textures.

“Their fast growth rate makes ornamental grasses ideal for privacy hedges because new plants can rapidly fill in any gaps.”

B&Q’s Stipa Pony Tails Ornamental Grass is currently priced at £10.49, making it a perfect solution for penny pinchers.

The height of the plant when you purchase it will be 30-45cm, but ornamental grass can grow up to three metres tall.

The plant is low maintenance, so won’t cause you any stress, plus its feathery plumes will elevate the look of your garden into a stylish haven.

Additionally, B&Q slashed the price of an ornament – that helps your patio seem bigger – to just £11 last week.

The Ornamental Prunus Incisa “Kojo-no-Mai” Fuji Cherry Tree is available for just £10.79.

Usually referred to as the cherry tree, this plant has a compact, rounded shape and a gently spreading habit.

This makes it suitable for planting in small gardens or areas with limited space.

Garden designer Karen McClure explained that adding plants to your patio space would help it to seem bigger.

“Use ornamental feature trees,” she advised anyone struggling with limited outdoor space.

“Multi-stem specimens in particular can be kept to a controlled height in a large feature pot, and can create a lovely focal point as well as give interest at a higher level. Be bold.”

She added that the number of plant varieties should be kept to a minimum.

“Too many varieties can create a busy and chaotic feel, whereas a simple planting palette will feel harmonised, soothing, and calm,” she said.

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