A NICE WEE SIT DOWN

I received a comment, a most insulting and libellous comment that this blog was DORMANT. Pardon? What? I would have published the comment had the correspondent not included their phone number. As a kind soul, I wish to protect them from the abuse of the Troon Millions who would undoubtedly risk their sair shoulders to pick up their handsets and disabuse the commenter of their delusions. So I have not published their vile ABUSE. This blog is NOT dormant. Not a lot happens in Troon. This is a natural pause in commentary. A catch of breath. Jeez, have you no appreciation of how to take it easy? I WAS HAVING A NICE WEE SIT DOWN.

Open Season

I don't like golf. The social aspect sounds fine, the chat and banter and the drinking after the game. The golf itself? I always associate it with having to get up at a ridiculous hour (maybe this was just my father, he insisted we see the first "tee-off", (as I believe those in the know call it). I associate it with sore legs (from standing and watching). I associate it with long walks (from being unable to stand and watch and having to move elsewhere). It's a ridiculous spectator sport if you can't see the "green" (as I believe those in the know call it).

The Senior Open has come to Troon. And the sun's even shining. And even I know a lot of the names. And, in fact, the town's not as mobbed by tipsy middle-aged Americans as I would have thought. Not that I would have minded tipsy middle-aged Americans. They come to town, drink, eat, spend money, play golf, go home. Although they're perhaps not all middle-aged. When I registered the bith of Grump Most Junior at the Town Hall, it was all very fancy and computerised. "Nationality of Father?" - computer showed a drop-down list with "Scottish, English, Welsh, Northern Irish" and then "American". So I asked why. "Oh, they come here to play golf and give unexpectedly give birth while they're here". The middle-aged drunk American golfers give birth while they're here??? Drunken pregnant men in their 50s??? This must be stopped!

Lack of News & I Feel Dirty

For those of you reading and wondering about the lack of postings in this blog, there is a very simple reason for this. The period November 2007 - May 2008 saw, quite literally, nothing happen in Troon. This is not unprecedented, as records show that this has happened quite regularly since records began - and Troon was frozen - in 1951.

Actually, that's not completely true. Lido opened. In one fell swoop, we have been brutally deprived of a long thin Chinese restaurant and another shop that I have no memory of. The cruelty. Goodfellows (estate agents) give the impression that they tried to call the developers’ bluff. To non-Troon residents this will make no sense – if you walk along West Portland Street, you’ll see that Lido occupies a large site where several other businesses formerly had premises, but one small plot remains, forcing the building of Lido into an odd U-shape around the tiny office of Goodfellows estate agent. Since the Buzzworks management presumably shrugged and gave up, building around them, Goodfellows appear to have realised this wasn’t smart, said “oh bugger” and have now moved out to new premises about, oooh, 30 yards away. Perhaps there’s a less comical explanation, but perhaps someone had a bit too much Troontown whisky while watching a certain Kieslowski film where exactly this happens...

Lido itself is infuriating. I lose all sense of distemper and fury and sound like a gibbering idiot when I’m there. The food’s bloody marvellous. The service is excellent. The place itself is clean, bright and you could easily be somewhere in Spain (apart from the driving wind and rain outside, perhaps). It’s not that expensive despite the reports from the over 60s (Quote: “It’s £4 for a Coke!!!”. I checked. It’s £1.80). I come out from Lido feeling like some awful, irrational, blinded evangelicalist. Lido makes me feel dirty. Lido makes me hate myself. Give me back my boiled vegetables.

These Troon Times

"Fastest Growing Newspaper in the Known Universe" or somesuch, it trumpets from the front page - The Troon Times. Yeah, right. What a nonsense this paper is. It's the Ayr Advertiser with a Troon name. Current edition - front page, "Council Going Down Toilet". Pretty standard headline, and one, frankly, which covers all of South Ayrshire. But let's allow that to pass. Look! Tucked inside, amongst the crime reports from Ayr, Ayr, Ayr and Prestwick (sorry, no Ayr), a very short article about a square in Troon's French twin town being named after our beloved hometown. Now, call me parochial, but isn't that exactly the kind of story that is actually relevent to Troon (a town paper should have parochial stories almost by definition - yes, I know Troon isn't a parish, but it probably was once). Now, it may not have me jumping with excitement, but I would have read this with some interest, knowing sweet FA about Troon's twin town. But no, Ayr crime stories are already available, ready to lift from the other editions and plonk down beside the scraps of actual Troon news. What a con.

I'll give you news -

1. A whole load Troon businesses are rubbish. Where's the article on that?
2. A couple of Troon restaurants are now actually quite good. Where's the article on that?
3. Troon has really quite an interesting history. Where's the article on that?
4. The fishermen down the harbour. Can they not interview one? No, really. Just a profile.
   
5. What help is there for tourists if you don't play golf?
   

Oh, Cooncillor Nan is threatened by the Labour cooncillors because they say she said they said. It's about a leak. I think. Or something. But if they'd bothered to give it an article I might be clearer. They might even have interviewed the two people. No, you're right. Too much trouble.

Isn't it about time Prestwick Airport was renamed Ronnie Ancona International?

Chips and Ginger

Has anyone ever been to the fish restaurant down at the harbour? I mean, anyone? How is it that I have never met anyone, anywhere, who has been there? Mind you, it's a looong walk for a bag of chips (and for many people, passing at least one other chip shop on the way). The chip shop part of it (Wee Hurrie?) had a savage review in the papers recently. But, as I said, I don't believe anybody's actually ever been there, so it must have been made up. I see a queue there sometimes when I go down to outstare the seals, but I'm convinced these people are paid to stand like that by the owners.

The restaurant's supposed to be excellent. But again, this comes from old reviews in old newspapers. There is no documented evidence of anyone every having "had their tea" there or anywhere near. It's probably a sham. I strongly suspect it's actually a disguised US base and they hold Dangerous Johnny Foreigners there before taking them via fishing boat to Ailsa Craig. Ninety percent of the building's under ground, you know. And the seals in the harbour have microphones hidden in their flippers.

Chips. Aren't they great? Isn't it marvellous that rich people eat fried potatoes too? Splendid.

Carefully does it...

I have to be a bit more careful here about how I phrase things. I, me, my family have experience of quite a number of the GPs in Troon and we've found them all, in our narrow and exclusively held opinion, to be rubbish. That, of course, leaves other GPs and other practices in Troon that may be simply marvellous. There, that should keep the lawyers happy (and perhaps I'll come to Troon lawyers another day).

When I lived elsewhere (we can call this the DDbT - Dark Days before Troon) I had a marvellous GP, Dr S. Not the cheeriest fellow ever, but he always listened, never rushed, always seemed interested. A prince amongst medical practitioners. Then came the days after DDbT. I had a very false introduction - two appointments taken by the most charming registrars. Attentive, eager, just like Dr S (although with more of a smile). And then I got the Partners. Ugh. No introductions, no interest, massive rush. Well, most of us don't excel at our jobs every day of the week, I suppose. But it was every appointment with their superior tone and condescending attitude. They must be terrified when their 4x4 has engine problems and they're at the mercy of the skills of the working classes. Anyway, all this is tolerable. I have better things to do in my life than waste time dealing with GPs that missed the lectures on bedside manner (like writing a blog where I complain about GPs that missed the lectures on bedside manner). It was the shoddy (ie wrong) diagnoses (note, plural) that got me. NHS24 gets a bad press. I think they're great, personally. Have been every time I've called them. They diagnosed Grump Junior with chickenpox over the phone, said we could get a last appointment with Troon GP1 that day. TGP1 gave a cursory glance and said "insect bites" and waved us away. Next day I take Grump Junior to Troon GP2 who says "oh, yes, chickenpox". You don't say. Again, we all make mistakes in our jobs. But for £100,000 I expect a GP to give more than a glance from a distance (he wanted his tea, perhaps) when a nurse, blind, has diagnosed something else.

That was bad enough. Some months later, Grump Junior was ill again. Terrible coughing, temperature, not eating. Three visits to Troon GP2 and Troon GP3 in two days - "go home and it'll clear up" x 3. A few hours after the last visit, I call NHS24 in desperation (I will NOT hear a word said against these people and this system) send us to a GP - a Dr Sommerville - at Crosshouse Hospital. He admits Grump Junior immediately saying "I think you're not being supported enough". Within 24 hours, Grump Junior is diagnosed with pneumonia. Guess what? We changed practice.

So far, new practice hasn't impressed, but the Grump Jury is still out.

Grump Junior made a full recovery, thanks to NHS24, Crosshouse Hospital, Dr Sommerville and his colleauges. No thanks to the GPs of Troon.

And you wonder why I'm bad-tempered?

Gibbons

A different tack. Complaining with praise. The kiosk at Troon station. Why can't more small businesses be like this? They unfailingly say "Good Morning" (yeah, okay, I'm old-fashioned, but it's called basic courtesy and yes, I say it too - it's called basic humanity). They're friendly. They smile. I wouldn't blame them if they didn't, mind. Must make them sick to see people reading the Metro (or the Shite, as I like to call it) which they can get free on the platform. It's all culled from the internet and designed to be read by gibbons. But I digress. Is Network Rail trying to bankrupt people like this while infecting the dimmer members of society with drivel on paper?

There's a few of them work in that kiosk. Looks like family. Can we ask them to take over the running of the whole town?

And did anyone notice there were no plastic horses around town while until the SNP took over in Edinburgh?

Comestibles Shock

So a new Italian restaurant in Troontown on Templehill. Try as I might to whinge about it, it was actually pretty good. Food, service, prices. Doesn't make for interesting blogging. But it does give me the hope that it will bankrupt the other crappy places or if that can't be arranged it might at least make them appreciate their customers more.

The new Buzzworks place on West Portland Street continues to tease with its epic construction schedule. They appeared to find fossilised potatoes from an earlier Troon restaurant and building was halted while they carbon dated them and sold them to local restaurateurs for bulking of Soup of the Day.

Radio Troon

Much excitement at the announcement of the forthcoming Radio Troon. Here's the draft schedule:

0700 Good Morning Troon!
Early morning golf bulletin.
0725 Weather
Is it dry enough for golf?
0730 Golf Today
News and views on the last 24 hours of club and ball action.
0830 Woman's Hour
Ladies that play golf talk about, well, golf.
0930 Cookery
Some elderly ladies discuss methods of boiling vegetables (will be postponed if the golf overruns).
1000 Today's Story
A heart-warming story of old ladies, money and golf.
1100 Money Programme
Troon residents counting their money, live. No poor people will be harmed in the broadcast of this programme.
1200 Sporting Roundup
Pointless programme discussing non-golf news.
1201 Golf Live
Back in the real world, golf carries on. Shot-by-shot coverage of retired rich people playing golf.
1800 News
Scarey stories from the world outside Troon.
1900 Bedtime
All listeners will be allowed to stay up late if the golf overruns (dependent on nurse's permission).

Recycling Rubbish

I know the green spaces are vanishing in Troon and the Troon Times gets as hot under the collar as the Troon Times can get about it, but when they took the new patch for the recycling centre I didn't mind. When the Arctic ice melts Troon will be under the water first. But my advice to recyclers is to wear body armour when recycling - the place is hostile. Wanted to recycle cardboard.

- "Does it go in with paper?"
- "NAAAAWWW!!!"
- "So where should I put it?"
- "GENERAL WASTE!!!"
- "Where's that?"

A hand waves somewhere towards the direction of the harbour and the owner of the hand wanders off.

I should say something about council taxpayers paying the wages of council workers. Can we sack them too?

Proximity and Punctuation

The new houses at the end of Deveron Road are awfully expensive. Really. Many pounds. Many many pounds. And they're on a main road. And jam-packed together. Actually, some of them are on two main roads. What idiot let that happen? The magnificent Troon Times reports that all the new streets will be named after former Lifeboat people. Which seems like a good idea. While we're at it, can we rename all the Portlands, Harlings and Fullartons to something else? So they had money and owned our ancestors. Read some Marx. Property through violence. If we're going to name streets after rich people that lived here, can it at least be after Mr Marr?

Any why can't the Troon Times punctuate?

Why bother?

Troon Business Association take note - there are a lot of rubbish businesses in Troon. Builders - didn't get back to me. Electricians - didn't get back to me. Joiners - didn't get back to me. Well, one did. Thanks, Lunardi. Got an electrician from Kilmarnock. May have to get a builder from Poland. I'm very happy that they're all so busy and returning a call is just too much bother. I just hope they remember when they're not so busy I won't waste my time offering them business. So don't huff and puff the the people of Troon don't spend their money in Troon!

Sour Puss

Another thing - the sour-faced people on the checkout in Morissons. I don't mean all the people. Most seem to be very pleasant "older ladies" all of whom are polite, friendly and welcoming. No, it's those other scunners. The spotty young ones. And again, I really mean the boys and young men rather than the marginally-less-sullen girls and young women. I don't ask for much, you know. I'm not looking for lifetime companionship from them. But if I say hello, I want a hello back. not a grunt as they see how fast they can pass a blurred barcode over the scanner. And I don't want my shopping thrown at me - I bruise. And I don't want my change and my receipt crumpled in my hand as he turns to the next victim. I've paid my money, I want my 3 to 3.5 seconds to balance the bags on my arms, back and head before Young Cretin starts throwing Poor Mrs Next in the Queue's frozen chicken at my shins. You know what I do? I tell them how rude they've been. Staggers them that someone speaks up. Now that, surely is a job for one of the "older ladies" if ever there was one...

Food

Another thing - food. Why has Scott's not managed to bankrupt the other restaurants in Troon? I'd talk about the Loans Inn, but that deserves its own day for vitriol. Many of Troon's cafes and restaurants remain the last refuges of the bland boiled vegetable. And it appears we put up with this. I'd go on about how great Scott's is, but that would spoil my foul mood. I would get no joy in describing how they manage to combine great service, location and food. And it's not that expensive. Mind you, it's a short walk out of the town centre. Maybe that's how it avoids the Pox of the Over-boiled Vegetable. I'm quite able to over-boil my own spuds, thanks very much.

I suppose there's the Chinese places. They're okay (I'm not sure two-day-old boiled carrots are really that Chinese anyway). The Italian on Portland Street? Ai, ai, ai. Make sure you thank them for the table, it's been a real inconvenience to let you have it. And can you hurry up and get out, please? We may have FAMOUS people coming to eat here.

The owners of Scott's are opening a new place on West Portland Street. Perhaps they could accidently knock down a few other places as they get building? Even if it turns out to be crap, it would still be a better, more welcoming and professional crap than many of the other Troon troughs. The word "eatery" was made for these places. They don't deserve "cafe" or "restaurant". Reminds me of the people that call women "females"...

Back to the Front etc

Another thing. Troon, down at the front. What's so difficult or expensive about sorting it out? That paddling pool - who took the inspired decision to fill in half of it? Does that prevent half the drunks jumping into half of it when it doesn't have its half of water? Why can't we shove some mud and seeds in it and have grass? Looks like the rooms in my house I put off painting, I get to tolerate the absurdity of the half-painted walls. But then I'm not trying to attract tourists to my loo.

And the graffiti on the shelters. Has nobody thought of calling the local schools in Troon, Dundonald and Prestwick and asking if they have anyone there called "Big Davie" who has ever been seen canoodling with "Crazy Angie". Is that beyond our shared-between-the-local-stations policepersons?

And why does the sea have to be so cold? Is this the result of a Tory council?

Troon to be Paved Over

Much shock and horror in The Troon Times about plans to build 45 million new homes in the fields in the north of the town. Incomers are expected to be dirty poor people and certainly not the people who we're used to. Rumours are going round that these hideous people will drop litter, clog our pavements with their reckless walking activities and generally make our lives hell. The underlying tone of The Troon Times is that these bastards should find some rock somewhere (preferably the far side of Irvine) to plant their tents and LEAVE OUR TOWN ALONE.

Of course, the average age of the Troon resident is 114, so waiting a few years should mean there are a few more houses available.

Bloody people.

Troon in Glasgow

I'm originally Glaswegian. I met a Scot in Spain a few years ago, I asked him where he was from. He said "Glasgow". Presumably he didn't think I had a Glasgow accent. I asked him where in Glasgow he was from. "Erm, Troon". So there you are, Troon in Glasgow. I'm sure there's a long and sad story behind this man's reluctance to admit where he's from. Perhaps he said Troon to cover up that he's really from Dundonald..?

This is My Troon

And another thing. The Troon Business Association. Lovely. No idea what they're at. I gave up on Troon businesses. Went to the greengrocers on Portland Street. Over-priced minimalist choice. Fair enough for a small shop. But the service was off-hand and snooty. Never went back. And the shoe repair shop. I unwisely asked if they could repair my briefcase. The short version of what he said was "No". The long version was "No, I can't". And the printers? Oh yes. I wanted business cards, complements slips, headed notepaper. They take my name, take my details, say they'll get back to me with a quote. And nobody ever does. And that was two different, unconnected printers in Troon. So I spend my money elsewhere.

Bloody communists.