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July 7, 2017

Ian Bone

When I was a kid we spent our two weeks holidays with my uncles on the West of Scotland – West Kilbride, Ayr, Largs – and sometimes take a steamer from Ardrossan on the Clyde and round the Cumbraes. I’d look longingly at Ailsa Craig but the holy of holys was the one great trip all the brothers and families made to Rothesay on the island of Bute. What a beano that was with every relative rockingly drunk – a proper day out. Ian Jack writes about Rothesay in today’s Guardian. I like Jack as a writer and he’s especially evocative on Glasgow and the Clyde coast. He has two great lines about decaying Rothesay today ‘ One bright August I noticed I was the only person on the prom. I heard a Gracie fields song floating over the water from a party of cruising Lancastrians. It could not go on’ and…

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