Day Three

And MrP said, let there be poetry and music. And behold, into his presence were ushered the Poet Laureate and our very own Makar. And until the point when I clapped my hands to signal their dismissal, they were suitably entertaining. Note to future Makars: writing condescending pieces about Farage and his Brexiters which predictably go down a storm at middle class literary festivals, isn't really that impressive. In fact, it's embarrassing.
So, back to the seaside and a potter on the boat. Water ingress: scratch chin... Then a brief meet with a very sweaty son busily sawing and drilling to set up a cafe for Mr Aston Martin man. The world's ill divided (Makars take note).
So, onward! Some music schtuff at the Surgeon's Hall with the Seasick Steves. And very good it was too - who are these guys - Blueswater (above). Say they're from Embra but we'd never heard of them. How is this possible?
Then across town to meet the chums. And finally back to the seaside. Where it all began.