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So, ya askin’ me thoughts? It’s raw, messy, like Ida’s Poland—beautiful, fucked-up mess. “Dig up those bones,” Ida’s auntie says. Bones? More like diggin’ up trouble! We swears, ya find a prostitute, ya find a story—sad, wild, or both. Watch yerself, mate—don’t get lost in it! Precious!

Isle Of Arran

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So, we duck into a pub on Shore Road. It’s cozy, and the locals are all friendly. I order a pint of Arran Blonde, and it’s like liquid gold. We’re chatting, and I’m feeling all warm and fuzzy inside. Then, this old guy at the bar starts telling us stories about the island. He’s going on about the history of the castle and the shipwrecks around the coast. I’m like, “Wow, this place is full of surprises!”

People rely on the ferries to get on and off Arran. But the SNP's ruinous handling of our lifeline service mea