Musings from Millport

Lest any of you resident on remote islands should think it’s any easier living in spitting distance of the mainland, let me assure you that we’ve had our share of misery in Millport this winter. The ferry has been on amber alert almost all of December, due to the high winds, making getting to and from the flats a bit of a nightmare.

Most residents cultivate a friend in Largs, with whom they can stay if the ferries go off while they’re stuck on the Largs side.  These friends are used to a cross and damp Millportian turning up at their door with no notice ,asking if the kettle isnae on.

(The correct response to this is of course

“come away in “, not

“You’ll have had your tea, then?”)

Luckily we had no New Year renters, as the island has had a three day long power cut, which in turn cut the ferry off, as there were no floodlights at the Millport terminal.

All in all, much as I love Millport ,I’m quite glad to be at home just now…a

Well! What a summer it’s been!  from April onwards, the flat in Millport at Crawford St has been almost booked solidly, and the smaller room and kitchen in George St has had it’s fair share of holiday makers enjoying the many delights of Millport.

As last year, I feel I should award prizes to various renters, who will, of course ,remain nameless…

The Rip Van Winkle Award for tardiness.- Please step forward to receive your prize, the party of renters who told me that they were stopping for lunch in Largs, and would be arriving at about three o’clock.( My receipts to renters ask them to arrive between two and five o’clock, and suggest a text when they are on the ferry, so I can judge when to be at each flat.)  Luckily I was not returning home that night! I waited at the flat to give them the keys.. and I waited….. and I waited some more. Several text messages to the lunch party remained unanswered. The other flat was not rented that weekend, so luckily I didn’t have to do any sprinting between the two, but by five o’clock I was jolly hungry, and a bit suspicious..where they going to be a No Show? At half past five I finally got a text, announcing that they would be on the next ferry… or possibly the ferry after that. Half hourly ferry service= arrival time of between half past six or seven o’clock.  I politely texted them back and explained that I did not personally greet renters who arrived out of hours, the key would be under the mat, and I was going to get my tea. I’ve no idea what time they finally rolled up. I nipped along mid evening to check all was well, but they were in the pub.

The Nasty Nigel Tarnished Platter Award.- well, I had a few contenders for this one, regrettably. The same party as mentioned above texted me to explain that they had left a hairdryer behind and could I send it off? At some expense and trouble, I parcelled the giant hairdryer up, took it to PO, stood in queue, and posted it off. Still waiting for promised postage refund and thanks… The several renters who left a mess in the flat for me to clean, the broken items, all pale into insignificance next to the family who phoned on a Thursday and begged for a two night stay that weekend. Family problems, just need a wee break, he said. With a bit of juggling of work schedules, and the usual expense of the journey(it costs £25 to get to Millport either by train or car..)  Big Man drove down, put on the storage heaters as it was early in the year, made up the beds, and got in milk for a cup of tea for them. Then he settled down to wait in the car, because he wasn’t sure what time they were coming, and you don’t get a signal in the flat for his mobile. He waited, and then he texted them… and he waited some more….and then he decided at four o’clock that they were a No Show. Any attempt at contacting them resulted in a “This Vodaphone may be turned off..” message.

Thanks guys.

The Fagin “gotta pick a pocket or two ” gold watch- I had a surprising number of items go missing this year. T towels were the worst culprits, and you can bet your bottom dollar I’ll not be replacing them with more expensive Cath Kidston ones- no siree!! sorry, I have purchased the cheapest ones that money can buy out of Poundland. (guess how much they were?) .

The hairdryer has also gone, as have several pillow cases, hand towels, and a bath mat. On the plus side, we have inherited this week alone, a giant tub of salted peanuts, several kinds of breakfast cereal, and a pair of glasses. so it’s swings and roundabouts, I guess.. sort of…

The hound of the Baskervilles silver plated poop scoop. The prize for most annoying doggy, oh, there were quite a few contenders for this coveted award too. My neighbour Sandra was surprised,( but I suspect strangely pleased) to be hanging out her washing in the shared back court and have a large Akita dog stick it’s nose up her arse, silently arriving from my flat. We had small yappy dogs, big hairy dogs who shed , smelly dogs, dogs allowed to sleep in the beds (C’mon!!) but the prize goes to Monty the collie from up the stairs in George Street. For our entire stay in George St at the start of July, Monty expressed his disapproval of the sleeping arrangements, i.e. he slept in the cage, and my neighbours did not. He started up at about eleven at night, and whined, scrabbled, barked, yipped and howled till he fell asleep. At five every morning, as the first pale light appeared in the dark sky, he reiterated his disapproval. Luckily this only lasted a few weeks, and recent renters have assured me that they have not been woken.

Sardine Can Award- both my flats are pretty modest. Crawford St is a large flat but has still only one big bedrom, and George St is a room and kitchen . Which doesn’t stop people announcing that they will be bringing Aunty Anne, uncle Maurice, Granny Jean, and The Philharmonic Orchestra, and will there be enough beds?  This years prize though goes, with some admiration, to my Country and Westerners in George St ,who slept two teenagers, a mum ,and a ten year old in a room and kitchen. Crawford St comes second with C&W weekenders sleeping five girls in a one bedroomed flat.

The Cora And Clarice Twins Award the end of July was busy. We had renters in both flats, and the one’s in George St were in for ten days- my longest booking for the flat. When the chap phoned to book, he explained that the tenants were his two elderly aunts. Although he had a caravan on the island, he felt they would be best in the flat, with all the home comforts. I said doubtfully that the only bed was a double bed settee, but he assured me that this was fine, as they were twins.  Far be from me to remark upon individual’s sleeping arrangements.

When Big Man arrived to let them in, a young neice appeared and collected the key. The fact that we never actually saw the aunts has led to a fevered imagination(mine) making wild assumptions on what they were like.

At the end of the ten days, Big Man returned.The shower tray was so filthy that it had to be soaked in bleach, and the bath mat was in the same condition.The sink was  partly detached from the wall, and I wondered if they had tried to wash their feet in it. I formed a picture in my mind of leathery footed- maybe even hairy footed like Hobbits?- people, wearing matching clothes, and finishing each other’s sentences. These little imaginative flights of fancy keep you going as you scrub a shower stall…

The Bob The Builder toolkit prize- As well as the detatched sink, we have also had several breakages- mostly glasses and cups, but also the shower pole, the toilet roll holder and the seat in the garden.Nothing too major though.

The Specsaver’s reading glasses case award- Chap emailed me to ask about the availability of Crawford St for a week in June. I told him it was already booked, but suggested, since it was just for him and his wife,  that George St might be an option. No, he emailed back, he’d had a look at the website and photos for that flat. It wasn’t suitable as it only had a small portable telly, rather than the big flat screen one in Crawford St. Puzzled,I looked at the photos again  of the flat, because George St has no telly. It clearly states this in the information panel for the flat on the website, but which photo was misleading him? Ha- the microwave, shown in the photo of the kitchen/ open plan area. I imagined them  sitting on the couch together, gazing earnestly at the microwave , perhaps remarking to each other that Coronation St was a bit slow tonight…

A special mention  must go to the many renters who left the flat clean, tidy, recycled their rubbish responsibly, and didn’t have wild parties till two in the morning in the drying green area. The others… you know who you are.

For some considerable time- at least nine months- a furious row has been raging in Millport. It concerns an application from a Mr Semple who  wishes to open a pharmacy on the island. The problem is that the local GPs are in part funded by their own dispensary, which is run by themselves and three or four dispensary assistants. Should the pharmacy go ahead, the dispensary will have to close as a dispensary and a pharmacy cannot operate in the same locality. This puts not only the jobs of the dispensary assistants in jeopardy, but casts doubt over the future of at least one GP.

The legal twists and turns of this case have been many, and locals and holiday home owners alike have found it difficult to agree on the best way forward. A pressure group has been formed and the local website has been busy with comments both for and against the proposals. Unfortunately, an element of “this is our island, you lot stay out of it” has crept into some of the threads, and tempers have clearly got the better of some contributors. (sound familiar ,anyone??)

There has also ,to my mind, been quite a lot of scaremongering. Locals fear that if the ferry goes off, which is does fairly regularly in winter due to bad weather,and the pharmacist is not resident on the island, the pharmacy will be shut . Let’s face it with the welcome some residents are likely to extend , he’s hardly likely to buy a house there. In my experience, the ferry rarely goes off for more than a few hours, and in my home area, the GP is able to keep some essential medications for “out of hours” emergencies.

I’ve only used the GP  once in my years in Millport, when Perfect Daughter got appendicitis.( That was a really fun holiday, that one..) The service we received was second to none.

But I’ve been aware for some time that my guide in the rental flat has to advise people to stock up on any medication, before they arrive, or go to Largs for anything stronger than a paracetamol. This includes hay fever tablets, cough medicine, and of course any advice on medication, or ilnesses that a holiday maker might look for. A pharmacy on the island would be beneficial for some, and apparently disastrous for others.  The application has gone through and been approved, and the latest news is that two GPs on the island are leaving/ retiring in protest. The last appeal from the pressure group has been turned down , so it looks as if the pharmacy will go ahead- what it means to locals and holiday makers alike remains to be seen. Some locals insist that they will travel to Largs to pick up medication rather than use the pharmacy, thereby forcing him out of business, but this seems a step too far in my opinion , and could result in there being no provision at all on the island.

Watch this space….

Yes, as Christina Rosetti said, she was sore in doubt concerning spring. And after a four day trip to Millport for the flat’s annual Spring clean, I was left wondering if I’d jumped the gun a bit. Over the four days, I was subjected to rain, hail, high winds, and a morning of weak chilly sunshine- which at least let me get the washing hung out.

The bathroom in Crawford Street has all been redecorated, which looks jolly smart. We are a bit short of the old ready cash to be honest, so we fell short of the total makeover I would have liked to give it- power shower, new tiles, new floor- and just painted walls and wood work, but it looks fresh and clean, and there is no trace of my bosses daughter’s handiwork , where she helpfully ripped off a bit of loose wallpaper, presumably as she sat on the cludgie.

George St is of course looking clean and fresh anyway, and only requires one final thing to make it complete.

I refer, of course, to the “NO BIKES AGAINST THE WINDOW SILL PLEASE”  notice which every ground floor flat sports. Is this just a Millport thing? Do other islands have a similar notice, perhaps in Gaelic? Perhaps on other islands it’s not bikes, but farming implements that might scratch the newly painted sills? Or something else, like livestock?

Anyway, I’ve given a god bit of thought to this notice, and had a careful look at other peoples. As far as I can see, it can be vintage- that is on a back of an old Xmas card from 1982, and written in fading green biro. Or it can be techno- printed out on the computer , with a relevant bit of Clipart, maybe featuring a person on a bike, and if you’re feeling really posh, it can be laminated. You can go for the imperious -”NAE BIKES” or the polite “Please Refrain From Placing Your Bike Against The Window, Thanks Very Much” but that takes up a lot of printer ink or biro, and like I say, me and Big Man are a wee bit skint.

I’ve also been idly thinking, as I shampooed the carpet of it’s dog related stains, about other ways to make some cash out of George St- the brothel masquerading as a knitting shop was good, but enthusiasm seemsd to have waned amongst  Les Girls for this venture, once they realised how long ,bleak, and frankly bloody boring the winter is in Millport.

So I thought of short breaks, perhaps teaching a skill would be interesting? You bloggers could help out!

For example, Taddoe could teach week long sessions of Conversational French! Barney could do some sailing lessons! Jill from Eek could come and lecture on Law and it’s many uses in society today! Mrs Dragon could do some fiddling lessons! I’m sure you can all think of some other bloggers who have under used skills..

Because let’s face it we all have to cut our cloth according to our yarn, whilst simultaneously ensuring that we don’t try to make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear, and other material related proverbs. I have not yet resorted to turning my bed sheets to the middle, as my old mum used to - does anybody else recall having to sleep on the seam down the centre of a sheet?- but it’s a close thing.

No blogger’s offers of help will be turned down, but just don’t bring your bike.

Just in case any of you were wondering if we ever got the flat in George St finished, or whether we just gave up and let it sit with bare plaster…

Well here it is. Despite it having taken about twice as long as we anticipated, and three times as much cash to do, I’m very pleased to say it is finally done.

the poky front room has been transformed into an elegant kitchen diner, with bed settee.

The tiny living room is still a tiny living room, but now has a lovely new window which opens up to allow a tired landlady to pop a deck chair out on the balcony and enjoy the sun and a pleasant open view.

Every bit of old plaster has been hacked off, it’s all rewired, and though we have no television, there’s a state of the art thingy that you can plug your I pod into to listen to your favourite music through speakers, or enjoy The Archers in crystal clear stereo.

The overlarge bed settee gave us a bit of a headache, and proves the old maxim of “measure twice, cut once” or in this case “Measure twice ,buy expensive item from Ikea once.”

But all in all, I’m delighted.

What do you think?

The balmy days of summer  (it seems so long ago!) have given way to some freezing- balls -off - brass- monkey weather.

Millport has only had a dusting of snow, though, so I am looking forward to a few days after Christmas when we can go for a wee walk without dodging piles of dirty , frozen snow.

Merry Christmas, one and all!

Well, what with all the snow, and the schools being shut, so Big Man and Thin White Duke could sit about in their PJs all day playing their computers, while I struggled through blizzards and three  foot high snowdrifts to get to work… I was really keen to get down to Millport at the weekend.

There was no snow in Millport, reported my neighbour Sandra, but it was cold and a wee bit slippery underfoot. so Big Man (coaxed out of his PJs by now, you will be happy to know) and Landlady set off in the car, with a full tank of gas for the portable gas fire, and some provisions, and our painting togs, for the plan this weekend was To Paint The Cellar in George St.

I can’t help feeling this title sounds like an Ibsen play, you know the kind where they all sit around having meaningful discussions and never eating or sleeping and then somebody goes out the back and shoots himself. I was quite hoping the weekend didn’t end up like that, to be honest, but you can never tell….

Anyway it certainly was bitterly cold when we arrived Saturday lunch time, but we turned our back on the delights of the gas fire and newspapers and tea, and had a look at the cellar.

It’s not an underground cellar, it’s simply the cupboard under the close stairs, but it’s big enough to house at least the washing machine and we got electricity put into  it when we got the rewiring done.

Because it’s under the stairs, Big Man put it to me that this was a job best suited to wee short hobbit- like folk, like myself, and not tall , handsome, statuesque folk . Like himself. Allegedly.

So in a very short time I was dressed in an old fleece jacket, and my painting trousers, and was wielding the paint brush in a small, dusty, under-stair cupboard, while Big Man was putting up hooks and listening to what sounded like a jolly interesting programme on Radio Four in the nice cosy flat.

Hmmn.

Anyway, Big Man had kindly told me I didn’t really need to reach right under the stairs with the paint brush, but I like a challenge, so I lay flat out on my stomach and got right to the back. Then I lay on my back and painted up the way. As I was doing this, a large blob of white paint fell into my left eye.

Screeching in agony, I tried instinctively to sit up, but of course I couldn’t ,so I sort of squirmed my way to the front of the cupboard, still swearing and screeching and trying to wipe my eye with a painty sleeve..Then I staggered along the close, calling to Big Man to please help me. Big Man looked interested and handed me a bit of toilet paper, and said helpfully that gloss paint was much worse.

As I washed the paint from my eye( and face and hair) I realised that instead of a tribute to an Ibsen play, I’d unwittingly recreated the scene in Biker Grove, where Antn’Dec (I cannot recall which is which) was blinded by a paintball and was blind for the rest of the series. I was quite hoping that wasn’t going to happen to me, although it didn’t do Antn’ Dec any harm in their career…

Anyway, I managed to get the rest of the cupboard painted without incident, and Big Man got some hooks put up, and we were back in Crawford St in time to watch Strictly, so that was all right.

This morning we lugged the freezer out of Granny Pam’s shed, which was surprisingly easy, and the washing machine, which wasn’t at all easy. Once sited in the cupboard, we realised that although both machines fit, you cannot fully open the freezer compartments. It would be easy to slide some (for example) fish finger boxes in the gap between the door and the drawer, but a loaf of bread would be impossible. Big Man and I discussed the practicalities of only eating small , thin food while in Millport, so fish fingers, pitta bread and potato scones would be OK, while crusty hedgehog loaves, bagels and beefburger boxes would be out. In the end (regretfully) we decided this was not one of our best ideas,and the freezer would perhaps be better elsewhere.

We then had a big late lunch in the Dancing Midge, and started out on a wee walk, but the sun suddenly dropped behind the hills, leaving Millport bathed in a clear, violet haze,( which I would have captured on my camera, if it hadn’t run out of battery ).It was absolutely FREEZING, so we turned back and packed up our bags.

As soon as we left Largs, we could see the snow again, by now quite dirty and not pretty at all. It’s still a good foot deep here in Falkirk, so tomorrow promises to be another day of fighting through snowdrifts and ice.

roll on the Christmas holidays…

September weekend! Illuminations! fireworks!!

If you’ve never visited Millport for September weekend, you may not be aware what a Big Deal this weekend is. Traditionally marking the end of the tourist season,  this occasion ensures that any left over tourists get the message and bugger off home, leaving Millport to the local population. The population shrinks back to it’s customary 1,200, and we all discuss what kind of a season it’s been, and metaphorically loosen off our belts, get our slippers on and go for a snooze in front of the coal fire.

Or, in some folk’s cases, literally do these things.

Granny Pam’s house is finally on the market, and Jane ,her husband Gary and their youngest daughter Kirsty took the opportunity to  visit Millport for one last time before the house is sold. I went too, because I love September weekend. All the shops decorate their windows with homemade displays, and a lot of houses along the seafront do too. Padella lights can be placed up and down stairways, along sea walls, and the wee Eilans in the middle of the river are covered in candles ,and a bonfire. There are sandcastle building competitions, live music ,and fireworks.

All in all it’s a family friendly time, and the atmosphere is always great.

So. for your pleasure: some window displays.. the first one was in the flower shop, and featured some fairy hunting activities..

…Julian Clary, Graham Norton etc were also nestled amongst the blooms. I’m not sure you could get away with this anywhere else but Millport.. it’s nothing if not unreconstructed…

The roof of the Newton Inn had it’s own Titanic display, and yes, those are real live people on it..

and Jane and family entered into the spirit of things along the sea wall at Clyde St.

Then there were fireworks!

wow! Gosh!! Crivvens!!!

And Kirsty got right into the spirit of things…

..While along at Marine Parade, a spirited rendition of The Wizard Of Oz was taking place.

In George Street, after all the broohaha was over, I had my own little Illuminations Festival, with the bit of stained glass that has fallen out of the disused church beside us.

.. And I had a cup of tea and reflected on the season.

Happy Illuminations weekend!

Well what a summer it’s been ! The weather during the school holidays wasn’t brilliant, but it didn’t seem to put my renters off enjoying their seaside break in my flat. As well as my own, I had Jane’s mum’s flat rented out too -which was quite hard work, but it seemed better than it sitting empty.

It was a bit of a rush to get two flats ready between 11am and 2pm. There was lots of rushing between the two flats with bits of bedding, and hurling dirty bedding into the shed where the washer drier is located, and swearing because the pillow cases which matched the duvet invariably seemed to be in the other flat. Norrie, the next door neighbour in Jane’s flat, took to calling me his favourite scrubber, and indeed it felt that way.

But it’s almost all over now, with only a few lets left to go. It’s time to look back at my weird and wonderful renters, and hand out the prizes. Are you sitting comfortably? Then I’ll begin.

The  Tom Cruise commemorative thimble for frankly weird behaviour.

Oh lordy, I’ve had some odd behaviour this year. Special mention goes to the holiday makers who moved all my furniture about, including ALL the table lamps,  and turned on the storage heaters, causing me to think I was having an Extra Hot hot flush and sweat profusely as I shifted all the furniture back to it’s spot.

Then there was the lady who spent most of her time in the pub, and then apparently arrived  back at teatime to engineer a full blown domestic with hubby, before storming out with the dog for a short stagger. Every night for a week.

The renters who win the much sought after thimble though, are the one’s who left a note crossly asking me to fix the bathroom door handle. Which they had broken. Pfft! Brass neck!

The Kim and Aggie gold plated duster.

My goodness I had a few clean freaks. I’d be the first to admit the fixtures and fittings in the flat are not brand new. however everything is clean! So to the lady who announced in the visitor’s book that my “work tops needed a good scrubbing”.. well honey if you want to spend your weekend by the seaside scrubbing my already clean work surfaces… each to their own. Enjoy your prize.

The Macauley Culkin cup for brattish behaviour

I had a few. The child who was earnestly putting gravel down the drain when I arrived to put the bins out was not amused when I asked her to desist. Neither was mummy.

I also had several sullen teens who asked where the modem was for the Internet. When I cheerily explained that there is none in the flat, and they’d have to go to the Midge Cafe to log on , they moaned softly, and curled up in the foetal position.Their parents adopted that nonchalant look that suggests they actually aren’t related, dear me no, they have just borrowed this hideous gangly specimen for a few days. I know that look because I’ve tried to pull it off myself.

But the cup goes, without a doubt , to the twelve year old who was so furious that he didn’t have a proper bed, and was going to have to sleep on a bed settee. Not only did he whine loudly, kick the offending Ikea couch, and use a sweary word that I found a little startling, but he wrote a cheeky complaint in my Visitor’s Book. And his parents let him.

The Howard Hugh shield for most paranoid behavior.

When I send a renter their receipt, I also include a map, a ferry timetable, and a note, asking them to please text me when they are on the ferry. I also suggest that about two o’clock is a good time to arrive. The reason I ask for the text, is because I haven’t yet perfected time travel, and I can’t be at Clyde St and Crawford street at the same time, now can I? People massively underestimate the time their journey will take, get stuck in traffic jams, or miss the ferry, so their predicted arrival time and actual arrival time vary. A lot.

So I’m sitting having a nice lunch in the Midge with Big Man . No text. I don’t rush my coffee, it’s true, and we stroll back to Crawford St at about a quarter past two… to find a panicky renter, rushing around, knocking at neighbour’s doors, and asking in the Newsagents if they know where I might be. She then proceeds to tell anybody who will listen that she thinks I’ve run off with the money.

Baffled, I asked her why she’d not tried to contact me? Oh but she had! she informed me. She’d emailed me twice, from her Fancy Pancy Blackberry.  After I’d pointed out that I don’t have internet access in the flat, she seemed a bit more understanding. I’m now known in the newsagent as The Great Train Robber. pfft.

The Mucky Pup  bronze dog turd

Oooh, you dirty lot. I’ve had it all. Small piles of toenail clippings. Filthy ovens, overflowing bins, dirty dishes under the bed… but the prize goes to the lady who left used sanitary protection carelessly thrown by the bed. Gee, thanks.

The Dulux Puppy “awwww” award

Easy. My honeymooners, all glowing and smiling and totally loved up. Bless!! If they conceived a wee baby during their stay, do you think they will call it Millie?

The Cathy and Clare problem award

Goes to me! I have a tricky social problem. (no, no, not that…) I have always rented the flat to friends and family on a “Mate’s rates” basis of half the normal tariff. I sort of expect that they’ll leave the flat clean and tidy, and strip their beds. How do I approach the one who consistently leaves it a mess? not hoovered, ring round bath, washing up in sink….

yours,

worried from Falkirk.

The Lost Property Box.

Roll up, roll up! who wants to claim these little gems?

Socks- lots of them, a few T- shirts, a couple of notebooks, HUNDREDS of buckets and spades, and a copy of  Michelle and Romy’s High School reunion.  hurrah…Somebody left three pence on the coffee table, but I took that as a tip.

The Anadin  Sponsored Headache cup

The bins. The bloody, sodding bins. it’s my biggest headache. I know each district has it’s own rules as to what can be recycled, and bin colours often vary from district to district, but purrleasse!! I’ve left polite notes , firm notes… and still people put their rubbish in the wrong bin, don’t recycle at all, and stand and watch poor Sandra struggle out and up the steps with a heavy bin.

And so ends another season, with only Illuminations Weekend to go. It’s been exhausting, I have barely seen my family for six weeks, the ticket office in Largs Station know me by name,  and decorating George St  has come low on my list of priorities, but we seem to have got there in the end.

Here’s to next year!

Millport occupants have been horrified by a spate of break ins recently, one while the house’s occupants were still in their beds. They appear to be targeting big houses, (sensibly enough, I suppose..) and if they break into George St, the only thing they could possibly nick is some poly filler and a slowly deflating air bed.

However it’s alarming residents,  and holiday home owners feel particularly anxious.

My mind however, as always, has run off at a bit of a tangent. The burglars apparently broke into the first house at five in the morning. As the first ferry over from the mainland is not until seven o’clock, I deduce- ooh get me, Sherlock Holmes!- that they must have spent the previous night on the island. I can’t help wondering what they did. Did they pop into the Ritz cafe for a wee marshmallow ice , and sit in a booth quietly discussing their plans? Did they book into the George hotel, or the Ambler guest house for the night, perhaps asking politely for a really early wake up call to their room? Perhaps they asked for a nice early breakfast, you know, to set them up for a bit of robbing- you can’t do it on an empty stomach, I wouldn’t have thought…

And finally, why did nobody notice them in their stripy jumpers, eye masks and carrying bags marked

“SWAG” ?

You would think they would be fairly conspicuous, even in the midst of the holiday makers who have descended on Millport to enjoy the Greenock Fair. Although if they favoured a shell suit and trainers, and those nifty train track on the side of their head, perhaps not.

Anyway. My neighbour Sandra has kindly donated some voile fabric panels to stop any beady eyed burglar from looking into the windows at Crawford St. I fully expect to see some crest fallen burglars on the ferry home, who will be doubtless muttering

” Blast! Those pesky voiles! I couldn’t see a bloomin’ thing!”

Indeed , you might say that they have been… oh wait.. I feel a poem coming on…

don’t go robbing at the Boyles

you will find that you’ve been foiled

By her neighbour’s window voiles.