Castle Semple 20 March

Allan, Andy, Davie C, Ian, Malcolm, Paul, Rex, Ronnie, Robert

Walk for an hour and a half and then return, or cycle for an hour and a half and then return. What could possibly go wrong?  Unless, of course, you belong to a certain band of retired, professional  gentlemen, where anything is possible.

We met at the car park adjacent to the Visitors' Centre on a dry but cold morning and the decision was quickly made to avail ourselves of a coffee in the café before setting out. As always, the staff were very friendly and accommodating and it was 10.45 before we dragged ourselves back outside.

Paul, Rex and Ronnie set off on their bikes with the instruction to meet back at the Centre at 2pm, giving ample time for a lunch break.

The remainder started off down the cycle track and once in the shelter of the banking on either side of the path, the walking conditions became very good, as long as you were wrapped up. A stop was made at the ruins of the old (gothic?) church before returning to the track and continuing to Fred Flintstone’s bike for a photo shoot. Despite the cold conditions the path was very busy with walkers and cyclists alike.

Lunch was taken on the outskirts of Kilbarchan before the return leg was started. It was when we, the walkers, were within 15 minutes of the Centre that we received a phone call from Rex to say the cyclists would be half an hour late. What would we do? Go straight to the Corner Bar or go back into the café to wait for the cyclists? Strangely enough, the café won the day and cups of hot chocolate were gratefully consumed. 45 minutes later there was still no sign of the three musketeers so we, not for the first time today, uttered the motto and set off for the Corner Bar. However, as we were leaving, Rex came into view followed by the rest of the peleton.

Having got ensconced in the lounge, hold your breath, not the usual one but the one next door, the story of the bikers was related. As we had suspected, they had decided to go as far as Pollok Park before returning. This made their journey much longer than that agreed and for disobeying orders each was given a written warning as to his future conduct. Paul received his standing up as the last few miles had made their mark on his posterior, saying nothing about the minor collision he and Ronnie had had.

Thanks to Malcolm who bought the first round to celebrate the birth of granddaughter Ebay Yvie, and to the staff of the Corner Bar who made us most welcome and provided us with ample quantities of biscuits and cheese. We will be back.

Arrangements for 20 March

Castle Semple Loch, Lochwinnoch
Meet at the Visitors Centre at 10.00am.
The choice will be to walk or to cycle.
Those wishing to cycle (remember to bring your bikes!) will travel for an hour and a half on the outward trip before returning to the Centre.
Those walking will walk for an hour and a half before returning.
All being well, we should meet up after the 3 hours.

Walk along the river Clyde, Glasgow

Davie's poem

The latest and final update has been added (by popular request).
Nae dugs, fish, Roberts, Davies, or any other living creatures were hurt in the making of this poyum - only the English language.

Maidens to Dunure 6 March 2013

Allan, Andy, Davie, Davie, Ian, Johnny, Malcolm, Paul, Robert, Ronnie

When we arrived at the car park at Dunure we were greeted by a snell wind and an overcast sky. Although the sun threatened to break through on a number of occasions, it didn’t, and the order of the day was to keep going for the wind was to be against us as the designated cars arrived at Maidens.

This is a walk that has been documented many times before and is one of our favourites, so the description that follows is minimal.

'All along the watchtower'

Setting off along the beach we made good time and soon we found the ‘staircase’ up towards the cliff walk and it was here that a short coffee stop was called for – and guess what? – it was at our usual place, but today the view was much restricted. Before long, having scoffed the last of Allan’s Christmas sweeties, a box, no less, of Liquorice Allsorts, we made our way into the grounds of Culzean, skirting the swan pond and heading up to the castle itself. We noted work taking place towards the roof and a discussion ensued about how certain parts of the castle’s sandstone and the surrounding buildings were suffering from erosion. We didn’t stop off at the café on this visit for two reasons 1) we weren’t sure if it would be open and 2) Davie had checked the tides and had suggested that we make our way along the beach asap. Remember the adage ‘Beware the tides of March’. We wonder however if Davie had checked them in the mist as the sea was well out as we passed by the gas house and on to the beach.

Lunch was called for at, dare I say it, our usual spot on the rocks and since we were in the shelter it made for a pleasant break. All good things come to an end though and we were soon climbing up the track from the beach to the cliff top and making steady progress alongside the fields which seemed to be drying out nicely for there were only a few mucky parts to be negotiated. When we reached the stepping stones over the burn we were delighted to find that a new bridge had been built making it much easier for Paul and Davie. The next ‘view stop’ was at the watchtower before the last wee sprint to the cars back at Dunure.

FRT was taken in the public bar at the Dunure Inn where there were laughs aplenty.

Davie's birthday poem

To a Davie

On this day it’s worth a mention

Davie McMeekin’s got his pension

Sixty-five, a feat to hail

But let’s get tae the gory tale

Oor Dainty Davie’s hard o’ lug

That’s why he’s got a listening dug

Black and white – the licence is cheaper

Cares not a jot about her keeper

And on a Wednesday her lips she’ll lick

Cos there’s many an ooter to throw a stick

Davie’s got only wan obsession

To join us on a three pint session

A joy for which he’s longed to strive

If only Holly could learn to drive

Great faither o’ the ooters race

He shames us a’ wi’ such great pace

Well maybe except for Rex and Paul

He really does shame us all

He leads us on those fabulous walks

Showin’ aff his superb socks

In his shorts no matter the season

Surely there has to be a reason

How come the nettles don’t him sting

It has to be a Darvel thing

But if there happens to be a mist

He might as well be Brahms and Liszt

To follow him would be a folly

That’s why we ooters follow Holly

  

And on a Tuesday he tackles the swimmin’

His pink trunks truly pleases the women

His speedos cut quite a dash

But Kay, it’s time you mended the gash

For as he does his measured mile

He’s lucky he disnae get the jile

And please be gentler wi’ the washin’

Cos’ the ‘S ‘ in Speedo’s taken a bashin’

Nae wonder when he enters the watter

The weans a’ flee wi’such a clatter

(In truth, his trunks arenae pink at a’

They’re black, but still ootside the law)

But talkin’ o’ pink, there’s an issue we cannot skirt

That is the hue of his favourite shirt

In his sexuality he says he’s happy

For he’s played ball wi’ many a chappie

And who can forget the night in France

When he led us a’ a merry dance

Drinkin’ the wine and playin’ the mouthie

Before collapsin’ on the pouffe

(It was actually the couch, but it didnae rhyme

I’ll think o’ somethin’ else for the next time)

To rouse him Robert unleashed his claws

And caressed poor Davie on the ba’s

However, by next morning, it has to be said

He’d kicked oor Robert oot the bed 

Davie woke up wi’ such a start

That he let oot a helluva fart

The noise was like a sonic boom

And blew pair Robert clean oot the room

He landed on the road outside

Nursing his butt as well as his pride

To make matters worse, as well as his sores,

The boys wouldnae let him back indoors

But he had an idea, at least he thought

Cos in his pocket was the TV remote

If you don’t let me in there’ll be nae mair telly

So come doon tae the door and gie it some welly

The door did open and Robert was beilin’

Had to srape wee Davie aff the ceilin’

He shouted and bawled, his face was red

It’s ma hoose, so get tae yer bed

The master o’ his country pile

King o’ Mosset for another while

 He is entrusted wi’ oor kitty

And doesnae gie us any pity

Going down frae Muirkirk tae Sanquhar

He took the purse and became oor banker

On the hills his repute is feared

A collie dug and a snow white beard

In the wet he wears a poncho

He wants to be the true head honcho

And tho’ it’s Bob who’s the decision maker

It’s Davie’s that the master baker

A thoughtful, learned, cunning linguist

I think you’ll understand the twist

The apostrophe, now there’s a mission

A rage that rivals nuclear fission

Davie wants tae make it clear

This is a cause to which he’s dear

It’s no a matter o’ rocket science

But one o’ simple grammatic compliance

It says a lot about education,

Or the lack of it, in this great nation

He’s a scholar of that man Rabbie Burns

And is famous for his many turns

At Holy Wullie he is a star

To hear him speak they travel far

Wi’ the lights oot and the candle lit

He brings to life the bard’s wry wit

But, if a Supper you need him to chair

You’ll need a glass his weight to bear

His drams do need constant tending

And his jokes are truly never ending

Only hauf a joke was in his meter

Too much time spent wi’ his pal Peter

When will we hear the rest o’ the story?

O’ the three in the train in a’ their glory

The drams, they didnae make him clever

Ae fond kiss, and then we slever?

And who can forget the famous day

When a carryoot should have been a takeaway

The ending wasnae tae the letter

But it made the laughter even better

When Johnny goes into computer speak

Davie proves he is no geek

Can barely find the computer switch

Or sort the simplest software glitch

Instead he relies on his helpful wife

Certainly not his trouble and strife

Kay runs the blog with expertise

And doesn’t charge us any fees

Or does she?

For some weeks Davie does us forsake

And takes his wife on a mid-week break

Arran, Pitlochry but nane sae swankie

As up the pass o’ Killiecrankie

And mind the day he went tae Boston

Forgot the turn-aff frae doontoon Ga’ston

And did chef Davie get in a fankle

When Kay fell doon and hurt her ankle?

(She tell’t us a that she hadnae been drinkin’

But that’s not what we a’ were thinkin’)

She couldnae walk and couldnae cook

So Davie said ‘Lie doon and look’

I’ll treat ye tae ma signature dish

And rest assured it’ll no be fish

Nae haddock, herrin’ and without a doubt

Nae salmon or fresh sea trout

And if you tempted him wi’ a scallop

Be prepared for a hefty wallop

Nothing frae the sea, wi’ a’ them bones

Better wi’ black puddin’ and tattie scones

But on this night he had somethin’ tae prove

And got intae the culinary groove

He showed  at the stove he is no assho’

Thanks to fajitas from Old El Paso

Even the dug got in a tizz

At the thought that Davie knew where the cooker wiz

She thought this’ll be ma lucky night

I’m gonnae get a tasty bite

But nae such luck, the usual fare

Then she remembered her paw was sair

So she limped about and gave him the look

And oh what pity on her he took

He was so sure the act was no fake

He threw oor Holly a fillet steak

The next night she tried the self-same farce

The result, a boot up the canine arse

But Davie knows we’re only jokin’

At him it’s fun that we’re a’ pokin’

Ye’ can only dae that to yer mates

In this respect he’s wan o’ the greats

We wish him health for many a year

Ever to enjoy the odd wee beer

A single malt we know he treasures

As long as it’s in very big measures

And a generous glass of fine red wine

Hits a spot that’s so divine

And finally, wi’ wan voice we dae speak

That lum o’ yours, may lang she reek