ScotlandAfter 20 years living in a remote and derelict stone cottage without electricity, the famed tattooed 'leopard man of Skye' has moved into a flat. He tells Neil Stephen why, at 73, life in the wild finally lost its charm

The leopard man has been domesticated. After 20 years of living in the wilds on a remote part of Skye, the man made famous for his leopard tattoos has changed his spot for a one-bedroom apartment. At 73, Tom Leppard was starting to feel his age, and the weekly kayak trip across the fast-flowing Kyles of Lochalsh for supplies was taking its toll. He was "one big wave away from disaster", and when a friend offered him the chance to leave the shore of Loch na Bèiste for the comfort of four walls in the village of Broadford, he leapt at the chance.

When I meet him at his new sheltered housing, he doesn't stand out among his neighbours - until you notice his tattoos. His eyelids are an electric blue, his nose marked like a cat's, and his bald head an elaborate pattern of spots. The 99.2% of his body that has been covered made him, until recently, the most tattooed man in the world.

He welcomes me into his new home - one of two dozen units in a terrace - and offers a cup of tea. His hands, tattooed palm and knuckle, are huge - a legacy of the hard life of outdoor graft he's endured. He's wearing a pastel blue jumper and slip-on boots, and watching him shuffling about the kitchen, it's hard to imagine how he coped with the Hebridean elements.

To describe the ruined cottage which he had made his home as primitive would be an understatement. It had an earthen floor and no windows. The thatch was gone, and the metal sheet roofing that spanned the drystone walls would not allow an adult to stand upright. He slept on a bed fashioned from polystyrene board, and cooked on a primus stove. His new accommodation has a proper bed and electricity, but little else in the way of mod cons. He has a sofa and chair in the living room and a small table in the kitchen area, but the walls are bare.

"I have no interest in a TV, or a radio. Nor do I want a telephone." In fact, he has very few possessions. "My life hasn't changed much - I never bothered people when I lived in the bothy [hut], and they didn't bother me, and I'm not really that interested in what else is going on outside."

Tom put all he owned in a couple of bin bags when he moved. He shows me his collection of books. There are about 20, mostly historical fiction about the Indian colonial wars. He has read them all several times, but with his memory now failing, he enjoys rereading them. There are no photographs - he has three brothers and several nephews and nieces, but he is not in touch with any of them, apart from a letter perhaps once a year.

"I've not really got anything in common with my family - we'd have nothing to talk about, so there's no point meeting them." He says he does not suffer from loneliness.

"I was in the armed forces for 28 years, and I enjoyed the solitary activities, such as parachute jumping, sailing and canoeing. I made the decision 20 years ago that I wanted to escape the city, which I hated, and to live alone in the highlands of Scotland. I have never been lonely since."

Tom hadn't collected a single tattoo in all his years in military service, including the navy, but he became "Mr Leppard" - his real name is Woodbridge - as a way of making cash. He chose the spots not because of any particular interest in cats, but because they were easy for a tattoo artist to do. The money he earned from his appearance helped fund his isolated existence.

"I would get an income from being the most tattooed man in the world, and would be photographed for the Guinness Book of Records, or featured on TV. I had a spare set of dentures, shaped like fangs, that I'd put in for the publicity shots. But it was a necessary evil to supplement my income support, or latterly my pension. It's not something I enjoyed."

It certainly made him famous among the people of Kyle, who would bump into Tom during his weekly shopping trip. Queuing at the chemist, a wag might ask if he was after something "to clear up his spots". But according to Tom, he has never suffered any abuse, and people who come in contact with him, including children, are usually friendly.

"I don't interfere in others people's lives, and they don't interfere in mine, but I probably go out more than some of my neighbours, who don't venture beyond their back door. Someone who looks in on me every couple of weeks, and there's always someone who will say hello."

He says he has no regrets about the life he chose, and is content with his move in to sheltered accommodation - he's at an age where he's comfortable in his own skin, but also happy to accept help.

Standing out amid the neat orderliness of of his new home is a cat litter tray by the door. I ask if he now has a cat to keep him company. But it turns out he's only looking after one for a couple of weeks. "I would never have one. They're the most selfish creatures out, and they only care about themselves."

And the leopard man of Skye smiles, without a fang in sight.

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