Thursday, 21 March 2013

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.

Thursday, 14 March 2013

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.

Thursday, 7 March 2013

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.

Sunday, 3 March 2013

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