Cheese, port and jazz

Waking up after yesterday's celebrations, and a shower was definitely in order. The burst water main in Ayr had other ideas about that though. We now had water back to the room, but there was no pressure in the boiler system to get it fired up for a hot shower...poor us, or so i thought until I considered the poor folk serving a room full of us at breakfast.

Back through to the 'burgh with a caffeine pitstop in Glasgow on the way. Sampled the finest coffee on the Clyde, I had been reliably informed, at Tinderbox. The coffee was good* but the system was off - either hang around their bar for ages looking lost while waiting for your order, or go back to your seat outside the cafe only to have to guess when to return to pick up...hopefully not yet cold.

Back home, we caught up with our wandering friend and set out for some moules et frites. The evening took a decidedly Dixie turn when the Diplomats of Jazz rolled and decamped at the table next to ours. Some fine tunes and a few jazz stories rounded off the weekend nicely.






* not quite competing with the fine selection of establishments found further east though