Landlocked

'I wish I didn't live in a landlocked province,' sighs the Teen. He wonders how he can bottle the smell and take it home. We are in Oban, en route for Mull. The town is full of happy people sitting in the sunshine eating oysters. The Pokey Hat has run out of ice cream, but they scrape the last scoops out for us. We eat a fish supper and the Teen shares his chips with me. I think I'm forgiven for making him pack his own bag this morning. Tough Gran, that's me.