THERE is something about the run-up to Easter that always puts me in the mood for a jaunt. I have emerged from my burrow like a hibernating animal, suddenly in the mood to throw off the shackles of my sofa-bound existence that has filled much of the winter months.

Images rotate in my mind's eye like an old-school carousel slideshow: paddling at the edge of a sun-dappled loch; inhaling the heady scent of bluebells that carpet a shaded woodland floor; slurping an ice cream and watching red squirrels do acrobatics through the trees.

But sometimes I daydream about places further afield. Most years, around this time, the UK Antarctic Heritage Trust begins scouting for new staff to manage its gift shop, maintain historic artefacts and observe penguins.

The jobs run from November to March – summer in the Southern Hemisphere – at Port Lockroy on tiny Goudier Island, off the Antarctic Peninsula. Port Lockroy was used as a military base during the Second World War and then as a British research station until 1962.

In 1996, it was restored as a "living museum" and has since operated as a visitor site for expedition vessels and icebreaker cruises. Today it attracts around 18,000 visitors each season and is one of the most visited sites in Antarctica.

One day, I tell my husband, we will do that. We will put stamps on postcards and count penguins and sell tourist trinkets and have ourselves a grand adventure.

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Usually he humours me, much like he did when I decided I wanted to upcycle old furniture as a hobby. But most of it has sat in the garage, languishing untouched and gathering dust, after I underestimated the time-intensive nature of this pastime, as well as my dislike of sanding.

He will gently remind me that there is limited power on the island, as well as no running water – which means no flushing toilets or shower facilities.

"Visiting ships will offer showers every few days but when conditions are poor you might expect to go up to two weeks without visitors or a shower," the application pack says.

Given that two days without a shower when the central heating went on the blink drove me round the twist, I might be kidding myself about my ability to last four months in Antarctica.

Even so, I am always envious of those intrepid folk who do land the seasonal gigs. It's the same when I hear about people becoming caretakers on rural Highland estates or remote Hebridean islands.

There is a romanticism I have about working the land (for which I fully blame Chris Guthrie in the Lewis Grassic Gibbon classic Sunset Song) that would no doubt lead to a rude awakening when I realise I couldn't just pop to the supermarket for a Wispa whenever the notion struck.

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Instead, I will content myself with exploring the myriad charms of Scotland – something that I never tire of.

Strolling along a beach as the wind whips the froth off the waves; hunting for fossils; stargazing; visiting farm shops and buying so many artisan cheeses that I stagger out the door, laden down like a winning contestant on Crackerjack. There is always joy to be found in cheese.

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