Musings from Millport

Over at Mr Croft’s place- I’m spending so much time there, I’m practically a Croft Groupie- I noticed he has a blog on The Scottish Style Awards, and well, imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, eh? So this is the Landlady’s Prize Giving List , awarded to her paying guests at the flat over the summer .

Best Neighbour Award- No contest here. This prize of a giant pack of teabags and a pint of full fat milk is gratefully and sincerely jointly awarded to Sandra, my own neighbour in Crawford St, and her mum Wilma. From keeping an eye on the place, and checking for open windows etc, to popping in with a jug of milk for a fly cuppa for me as I hurriedly strip beds, Wilma and Sandra have been neighbours beyond the call of duty. They have never complained at the steady stream of visitors, the noise , or even taking my washing in on one occasion. Thanks ,ladies, I owe you one!
Most unreasonable comment Most comments left in the visitors book were positive, or made perfectly reasonable suggestions about things I could provide to make their stay more comfortable. So this award- of a J- cloth and bottle of cream cleanser must go to the lady who complained that my cupboards were “grotty” ,pointing out that some crockery and cutlery was “not properly washed up”.
Aye right- in the two hours between one lot of guests leaving and the others arriving, I’ve really got time to check that people have washed up their cereal bowl nicely.
Anyway, you’ll be pleased to hear that Big Man was up till midnight the next week washing already clean crockery and wiping the inside of the cupboards..
Best Time Had In the Flat
This was a tricky one. Us creche ladies had a hilarious time this summer on our annual Bank holiday weekend, but in the end we were just pipped to the post by the ladies from Johnstone, who came down to do a sponsored cycle for charity. The howls of laughter we could hear when we popped round at nine to get the washing in, were matched only by the shrieks of mirth the next day as they all tried to get changed out of their cycling gear outside the flat. (The bemused new occupant seemed to be having a good time too, watching them !) Please come up to the podium to collect your jumbo pack of Tenas Ladies…
Tidiest Occupants- Most people left the flat nice and tidy, but the couple who cleaned the bath, tiles and taps so thoroughly that I stood in dumb admiration ,get this award of a DVD copy of “How Clean is your House”. It’s never looked as gleaming since..
Mucky Pups Award Despite trying very hard to leave the place clean and tidy, this award goes to Perfect Daughter and her chums, who left smears of orange bronzing powder in unexpected places. I’m still coming across them, a month later.. To you, girlies- a tub of Fake Bake is on it’s way.
Best Spam Enquiry- Well, I’ve had a few. Mostly they are from “newly ordained priests from Greece” who would apparently like to stay if I’ll send them my credit card details so that they can pay a deposit. Some start “Hello Dearly Beloved” and ask for money to help them through a crisis. But my all time favourite appeared in my in box just last week. Supposedly from Endemol, it asked for accommodation for “twenty finalists in the series “Deal or no Deal” ( because we are so handy for Shepherd’s Bush, aren’t we?) and suggested that they would be requiring “two double rooms with bunk beds”. I never knew the contestants lived in such squashed conditions, did you? I’d complain if it was me…
The “Marie Celeste” Book token- these renters must have been in an awful hurry to get a ferry, perhaps. They left loads of food and drink which was gratefully received by Big Man and myself.
The Frying Pan Award This is jointly awarded to the four August renters. Within this time period, I had to replace the frying pan twice. What did you do with it??!
Finally, some special awards which need no real explanation. There’s the “curly Black Hair Cup” -gee thanks, that was a nice thing to leave all over the bath… and the “lonesome sock prize”- if the owners of one large black sock, one sports sock and one lacy topped hold up would like to come forward? No? Well, they’re in my lost property box till New Year…
All prizes can be claimed by sending me your credit card details..

Recently, I had a wee read of a post that The Croft had written about a beautiful house on Lewis that was for sale. He described the house, and then ended his post by hoping that it was occupied by an permanent home owner and not utilised as a “part time ” holiday home. Perhaps naively, I asked Croft what he had against us holiday home owners. He pointed out the problems this caused, another commenter mentioned the difficulties for locals if houses are snapped up by in comers at inflated prices,and we exchanged a few other comments, but it left me thinking.
Personally, I suspect it’s too simplistic an answer to blame holiday home owners for the decline of a young population in rural areas. I was brought up in the wilds of Galloway in a tiny village. As a very small child ,the village boasted two small shops and a wee post office, plus a host of travelling shop vans selling bread, fruit, fish- there was even one from the chemists shop! By the time I left, the shops and post office had gone and few vans remained.
I and my friends from The Brig o’ Dee and the neighbouring villages, Rhonehouse and Gelston, could not wait to get away to Edinburgh or Glasgow.We wanted to meet boys who didn’t think it was acceptable to wear boiler suits and wellies to the pub. We wanted to live somewhere you could use public transport after seven pm. We wanted to do bad things without our parents finding out from a sharp eyed neighbour. But mostly, we left to pursue further education- there was no college or University within commuting distance.
After my spell at college was finished, I stayed on in Glasgow- it actually never crossed my mind to return , because I was having far too much fun. But if I’d wanted to , it would have been the lack of employment that put me off, not the lack of affordable housing. A quick straw poll of my old school friends at a reunion a few years ago told an identical story.
Occasionally, a house would go up for sale in Bridge of Dee. Even more occasionally some big shot from down South ,looking to retire in a lovely rural area would pay way over the asking price and outbid a local family. But it was a rare occurance. Not many young families wanted to live in the village because it had no school, shop, and it was populated by a lot of old fuddy duddys who liked to walk their dogs round the Loop and not much else. It doesn’t even have a pub.
I see an almost identical pattern of events playing out on Cumbrae. There is very little all year round employment. If you work in Largs, you probably prefer to live in Largs ,as the daily ferry fare would add quite a bit to your living expenses.
The daughter of the electrician has gone to Uni in Glasgow. Luigi and Angela’s (the Ritz Cafe owners)children have also flown the nest, and show no apparent desire to come back and run the Ritz. The youngsters that Perfect Daughter met over the summer were predominantly home for the summer from Uni or college. Will they return to Cumbrae when they have finished their education? My guess is -probably not.
So is it really fair to blame people for buying property , in a rural community, to use as a holiday house? I freely admit that I was pleased that my old mum’s house in Bridge of Dee went to a young family when we sold it. It’s a big family house and I had a lovely childhood in it. But I hope I would have accepted it if somebody had wanted to use it as an occasional residence.
Do locals perhaps feel that summer renters don’t contribute to the fabric of the community? That they dip in and out when it suits them? That’s a fair comment, though personally Big Man and I have tried to take part where we can.
Of course, I’m only talking about Cumbrae- I simply don’t know enough about the demographic spread of other Scottish Islands to see if the problems Cumbrae faces in retaining it’s young population are the same for other Islands. I’m sure somebody will tell me though. I’d welcome comments from Millportians too!
If I look deep inside my stony old heart is what is the origin of my discomfort at the (thankfully) rare bitter jibes at my status of “second home owner”? Does it stem from a slight feeling that I’m being “got at?” Or do I secretly feel that I’m being a wee bit greedy??

The much publicized “Open Day” on Little Cumbrae took place on Sunday 27th Sept. There was much speculation about the actual arrangements for transporting several thousand visitors over to the uninhabited island, and indeed the original plan to transport them from Largs Marina in staggered convoys was not particularly well received by locals. Many felt that to bypass Cumbrae altogether meant that any “knock on ” tourist benefits would be meagre. Only a few days before actual event, a comment was posted on the S1 community site that in fact boats would be dropping off the devotees of Swami Ramdev at the old pier, and a link to the events website showed this to be so. Any locals wishing to join in the celebrations by coming to Little Cumbrae could simply wait at the pier, pay their £5 return ticket, and travel in one of the rib boats travelling to the island.
A chilly and slightly damp Sunday morning dawned, and by lunch time it became clear that something had gone horribly wrong with the organisation of the day. Some hundred or so cold, forlorn and bewildered visitors, many dressed in traditional Indian dress ,many more quite elderly people, huddled together on the pier, waiting to get across. A lady I spoke to had travelled all night to get on the trip, and many had been waiting since the first drop off at 6am. A harried policeman tried to direct buses of disappointed and frustrated followers of Swami Ramdev back towards Largs. In the hour and a half we hung around the pier, not one single boat appeared, either picking up or dropping off visitors.
In the chip shop later that night I struck up conversation with an Indian lady who had managed to get across. If the scene on the Millport side was chaotic, the Wee Cumbrae side was apparently even worse, with exhausted and chilly visitors waiting to get home. She herself had come from Derby, and was scathing about the lack of organisation.
Comments on the S1 website tell of visitors too scared to board the rib, and also having to be assisted by the Fire Brigade to get back onto the Millport Pier well after dark had fallen and a brisk wind had sprung up.
This does not bode well for the proposed Yoga Camps which Mrs Poddar hopes to run on the island. Clearly more thought has to be put into the transport, facilities, and out dated plumbing on Little Cumbrae. The environmental impact of hundreds of people arriving on the island is also a real worry, and begs the question whether anybody- North Ayrshire Council, National Trust, etc has any say over what happens on a privately owned island?

This is how you do it. First, you pick your brambles.
If possible, pick a lovely, balmy early autumn day, and remember to take a big tupperware box with you. The brambles will stain your hands, clothing, and the box. Just thought I’d warn you..
The best brambles( as everybody knows) are always right at the top of the bush, or right at the bottom, and are surrounded by stinging nettles. Do not let this dissuade you.
If you get a little bored with being prickled, stung or stained wth bramble juice, take a minute or two to look at the scenery…
Or the local wildlife….
Then bring the brambles home and admire them…
Then get out the jelly pan. This has to be a proper jelly/jam making pan. A big saucepan, no matter how big it looks ,is not big enough. Believe me.
Boil up your brambles with a few cooking apples, then strain the mash through a jelly bag. Apparently if you let it drip and do not give the bag a wee sly squeeze every time you pass, you will get a clearer jelly, but who could resist? Not the Landlady.
Then measure the ruby red, fragrant viscous liquid, and allow a kilo of sugar to each 1 and a bit litres of liquid.heat gently, then allow to get to a rolling boil, (which is also what the Big Man is when he’s had too much beer.) Skim, and see if it’s set by putting a wee bit on a saucer. If the surface wrinkles when you draw your finger over it- bingo. Setting point is reached. Pour the hot jelly into sweet little pots purchased from Lakeland. If you have some left over, an empty peanut butter jar is also quite acceptable..well washed, of course…

Now the kitchen , the jelly pan, your hands and possibly the floor will look as if you have had a massacre in there. Clean up, or get your Big Man to clean up by promising acts of kindness and depravity later on.
Enjoy.

Yeeeehaaaa, howdy partners!! Yes, that time of year has rolled by again. The time when four thousand happy cowboys and cowgirls, and a few Indians( Native Americans, I mean, not to be confused with the forthcoming influx of Indians for the renaming of Wee Cumbrae..yes, it is confusing, I agree..) descend on Millport and make it their own. All the shops and bars put false frontages up so it really does look like the Wild, Wild West. (Well, if it wasn’t raining.)
The general consensus of opinion in our family is that this year was a little quieter than usual -Perfect Daughter, her band of Cowboys and Indians, and Big Man were all in attendance. Maybe it was the fairly dreadful weather, but there wasn’t quite the throng either watching the parade or walking around the streets that there has been in previous years. This rather surprised me, as I had had numerous enquiries for renting the flat- almost one a week since the beginning of the summer. I would be the last one to generalise, but middle aged Glaswegian ladies in groups of five or more, often called Margaret or Pearl, seemed to determined to get down to Millport and give it laldy. Obviously the prospect of some serious line dancin’, some drinkin’ and maybe a wee bit winchin’ was too good to miss. I ended up putting a notice on my website that I had no availability left for the weekend, but it made no difference.
Perfect Daughter and her pal Gemma had gone down on the Thursday to enable Gemma to really experience the many, many activities there are to do , before the invasion of the cowboys. They were made most welcome by the locals , kindly introduced by Margaret Hughes(thank you Margaret, told you you’d get a mention…) and enjoyed a days cycling and visiting the Ritz cafe before the rest of their gang arrived over the next few days.
The rest of the weekend is a bit of a blur, reports Perfect Daughter, but I have some pretty photos for you to admire.

I actually thought this story was a bit of idle gossip when I first heard it, so I didn’t blog about it. Turns out it’s all true, folks, Wee Cumbrae is to be renamed Peace Island, and 400 Indians are to descend on Big Cumbrae during the Illuminations Weekend.
Illuminations weekend is somehow quintessentially Scottish consisting, as it does, of all the shops and a fair few houses putting lights, displays, candles, photos etc in their windows, sometimes with a loose theme- sometimes not. Then there’s a firework display.
Somehow I hope the influx of another culture will work OK and the visitors will be as enchanted by the home made illuminations as everybody else.. I also hope that they use the cafes and shops, but the word on the street is that they are strict veggies and will not be partaking of any rolls and sausage in the Ritz.
The actual renaming of the island seems very bizzare- a case of life imitating art, considering my attempt to get it renamed Cardy.
Perhaps I should shake off my second best Ermine, and row over and introduce myself?!

Only delayed by a week, due to the fairly relentless rain, the scaffolding at the George St flat has been erected. I was on hand with my camera to record this momentous scene. Andy from upstairs ensured that the scaffolders were well fed by preparing a huge mound of rolls and sausage- surely the feed of the gods!- and serving them up in the garden. Even the clients at the centre across the road, which caters for adults with learning difficulties, got involved by directing the traffic past the scaffolding lorry.
It was all very exciting.
Inside the flat all the wallpaper is off, and we have had a …ooh, what is the collective noun for workmen? A traipse? A grimace? A clutch?? Anyway, lots of them have come in, looked at the damp and deathtrap electrical wiring and mentioned sums of money that seem more like ransom amounts than reasonable quotes to do the work.
The bad news is that after months of wallpaper stripping, it would appear that most of the plaster will have to be hacked off, on account of the damp, you see.
The good news is that once that’s done, we will have lovely ,dry, smooth new plastered walls.
The electrician has been, and knows a plumber- hurrah!- so really, it’s all moving along nicely , if still requiring lots of dosh to be spent.
Although my wallpaper stripping seems to have been a bit pointless, it has uncovered the original stencilling in the hall, almost intact on one side. apparently, painters and decorators carried a limited number of stencils, so whole tenements often boasted the same pattern and colour ways on their interior walls.
I’m not sure what Bob the beetle, who lives in the bathroom, will make of all the upheaval. He likes to hang about the shower tray, and despite Big Man evicting him several times, he has returned, often bringing his larger, more excitable, big brother, Bruce, with him.
Photos? well, I have none of Bob and Bruce, but here are some of the flat. What ? you thought this blog was going to be about something quite different? What do you mean?

I thoroughly enjoyed my week and a bit in Millport. The weather was fine, we lazed around, two of the three kids came down for a bit..As I am an earlier riser than either Big Man or Wee Man, it became my habit to amble down to the newsagents, pick up a copy of the Glasgow Herald, and read it as I quaffed my morning cuppa or three on the sitooterie.
Imagine my horror as I scanned the headlines, to see that Little Cumbrae has been sold. I hastily rushed to my biscuit tin aka my “Island Getaway Fund”. All that was in it was £2.64, a euro, a note from Lanky Boy promising to pay the £5 he’d “borrowed “from it, and a button. I was mildly cheered by the find of the button- it’s from my Boden trousers, and they don’t sit quite as well without the button on the waistband… but I digress. The deed has been done, we are too late, and Stromness Dragon’s vision of a Brave New World has bit the dust.
The island has been sold apparently to a family to own a chain of care homes, which made me wonder what their plans for Wee Cumbrae could be.. and also whether their could perhaps be a place for me there after all… but apparently they plan to discuss things with the inhabitants of Great Cumbrae to see how freer access to the island could be facilitated. For many years, you have been able to take a boat trip round the island but not land on it, as it’s private property.
Well, I thought, that’s all very good ,but I sense that I should perhaps abdicate as Queen of Cardy/Cumbrae . I can hardly preside over an island that someone else owns.
So, dear readers, it is with a heavy heart that I hang up my second best ermine. I hand over my sceptre, remove my crown with hands trembling with emotion…
Goodbye my loyal subjects.
Goodbye.

While I have been slaving away at work, entertaining a bunch of overheated, dehydrated, irritable three year olds, Big Man has been living the life of Reilly. As a college employee, he of course enjoys the full six weeks of holidays. As the end of term drew closer, he became unbearably chipper, announcing he was away to iron his shorts and go out to play. I became more morose, as the beginning of the summer holidays heralds our busiest period of the year, and no possibility of a bit of a skive.
As we were clearly at odds, Big Man set off to be smug and annoying in Millport. He ushered the next lot of renters in, and then turned his attentions to George St.
I became mildly alarmed after a few days as every phone call he made home seemed to hint at more walls knocked down, more cupboards dismantled and more carpets ripped up. He had been to see the chap upstairs to discuss the communal renovations needed to the outside of the building, got several phone numbers of other residents, and discussed what impact these outstanding repairs would have on the flat for sale upstairs with the estate agents.He had drawn up at least another three sets of possible plans for the layout of the interior.
So all good work, although not exactly designed to make the flat more habitable… in fact rather the reverse..
Meanwhile, I sweated and grumbled my way through the week at work, feeling very hard done by. it was far too hot to work. and far too hot to do anything even when I got home. Even pulling the hoover out of the cupboard brought me out in a light sweat, let alone actually hoovering ,for goodness sake.
Finally on Wednesday, Big Man told me that he had run out of clean underwear and socks several days prior (which was more information than you needed, wasn’t it?) and had made the flat so inhospitable that he was coming home.I was very glad to see him, as I really prefer to make full eye contact as I tell my loved ones how very hard my day has been.
After a brief two day visit ,he has set off again ,armed with a bag full of clean underwear, to see the next weeks renters in and attack George St with renewed vigour.
I decided, as I saw him off, that I quite like a marriage where we inhabit different houses some of the time. There is the inevitable.. er.. honeymoon period on his return , if you get my drift, and two days was enough time for him to do some Hoovering where I had failed. Now ,however, I can anticipate a pleasant night watching telly with no interruptions, a peaceful night with no snoring, and the kitchen staying relatively tidy without Big Man’s midnight snacks.
The only thing I will miss out on is breakfast in bed, unless I can train the kitties to balance a teatray on their heads..
I’m working on it
A last footnote to my post on search terms. I was really impressed and amazed to see a search for :
“harryd Canada” amongst the usual “Millport” stuff on my Crawford St blog.
You made it ,Darling- you’re finally famous!

Hello, my fellow bloggers, I thought I would follow Les’ s example and share with you some of the Google search terms that have led people to my Crawford St site, some fairly obvious, some ..well.. less so.
For example. ” Millport”- yes, well that would reasonably lead you to my site and hopefully be a useful read.
“Holidays in Millport” yup, again fairly self explanatory.
However I am mildly affronted that “Rabbit Hutches In Ardrossan ” led some hapless soul to my site- I know the flat isn’t exactly huge ,but still!…
Some searches are clearly looking for information on the vast(ish) range of activities to be had on the island so ;
“Seals in Millport”
Restaurants in Millport”
“shopping in Millport” are all sensible.
My favourite though on this subject would have to be the plaintive query
“Is there anything to do in Millport?”
I like to imagine this last one to be a miserable teen, faced with the prospect of a week’s holiday with Mum and Dad, with no possible access to Bebo, Facebook, or indeed any internet access at all. Wait till they realise that the mobile phone signal isn’t too brilliant either, they will be happy campers..
I liked the search on “armed police in Millport”, as this led me to the story of the Crawford St man who had to be rescued from the hills by helicopter after rashly promising to fire a gun..which he didn’t have..police dryly reported the incident as being the result of “too much sun and a lot of alcohol”. Too much sun?? In Millport???
“Does the ferry get busy in the summer” asked one intrepid traveller- yes indeedy , arrive early and be prepared to queue.
“Banks on Cumbrae” -hmmmnn, well there is one, but if you were intending to rob it, you would need to come on a Monday, Wednesday or Friday morning, as it’s not open other times. I suppose you could wait around outside till it did open, with your sawn off shotgun and stockingette mask..
Clearly some people are looking for my blog itself, but have forgotten it’s name. This has led to some wild approximations-
“Millport Blog”
“Island hopping blog”(eh?)
“Crawford Blog”
“Cumbrae St blog”
And (rather insultingly) “Crawford St woman”. Charming. I do hope I’m what they were looking for.