DOON THE WATTER PART 2

To Largs for lunch, then over to Greater Cumbrae. Most of urban Scotland had the same idea and the queues were three deep for Nardini's ice cream and the ferry. I don't normally like crowds, but there was an infectious spirit of holiday and general happiness so I quickly succumbed. The ferry men were good natured - 'You don't need a ticket on the way back, the only other way back is to swim!' The weans were wound up like clock springs, 'Mummy, I'm so excited my eyes are going to pop out!' The dads were engaged with their weans, singing 'Now I know my ABC!' as heartily as if they were on the stand at Ibrox. We walked round the island, being almost mown down by wobbly cyclists and having our ankles nipped by overwrought Jack Russells. Glasgow folk and the (very) odd Geordie crazed by the rare sight of the sun, 'We haid to come the day it goin' piss doon ramorrow!' Carpe Diem in Glaswegiean.

And all against the wonderful backdrop of the sparkling Firth, the red sandstone rocks, the bladder wrack, the mountains of Arran and the ever present gulls. Tempted as I was by some green viened white butterfly porn, it was the immature gull (don't ask me which kind) that stole the show.