Millport and Troon
♥ Primark gingham skirt [similar ] ♥ Ancient black crop top ♥ F&F wedges ♥ House of Harlow sunglasses
When I look back on this blog in years to come, I’m probably going to think this summer was one of those long, hot, and almost certainly mythical ones people are always remembering from their childhoods. Needless to say, it hasn’t been like that at all: we’ve really only had the occasional nice day scattered in amongst a whole lot of grey ones, but at least when those nice days come, we’re ready for them.
This week’s random nice day came on Tuesday, and as we’d had some advance warning of it, we once again worked extra hard over the weekend, so we could take off on an adventure in the sun. We knew it was going to be sunniest on the west coast, so that’s where we headed, because if the sun jumped off a cliff, you better believe we’d follow it. Ha! Take that, sun! You won’t beat US that easily!
We had no particular destination in mind, so we simply headed west, and waited to see where the road would take us. As it turned out, that place was the little coastal town of Troon, where we ate ice cream, walked along the sea-front, and made a brand new friend, in the shape of a random stranger, who I started to fear we would never shake off. This was to be the story of our trip – and of our lives, actually. While I was cursed with a resting bitch face, which means that even the people I actively TRY to befriend don’t really take to me, Terry draws strangers to him like flies to honey – or like me to the Zara sale. Everywhere we go, people will latch onto him and start telling him their life stories. Maybe it’s because of his ‘Catalogue Man’ persona?
Or, you know, maybe not.
Having had a pleasant walk around Troon, we got back into the car, and continued on our way to Largs, where we caught the ferry to the island of Great Cumbrie, and then a bus to the town of Millport. It was in Millport that Terry made his second lifelong friend: I left him on his own for just a few minutes, while I braved the public restrooms at the harbour, and when I came back out, he had been joined by a man called George (I know this because he introduced himself to Terry three times in the few minutes I was standing there), who Terry talked about for the rest of the day. “George was telling me…” he would start, and I’d be all, “George? Who the hell is George?”
Anyway, once we’d shaken off George, and also the two little boys who became Terry’s 3rd and 4th new BFFs of the day, we set off to explore Millport, which is another one of those picture-perfect little British seaside towns, right out of an Enid Blyton novel. It’s also one of those places I returned from, and instantly started looking up property prices for, because I’ve always wanted to live on an island, by which I mean, “I’ve wanted to live on a island since Tuesday, when I went to an island.” Seriously, though, look at it:
You feel almost like you were right there with us, don’t you? In fact, you’ll never need to go there yourselves, now, because I took eleventy-one thousand photos for you. You’re welcome.
You totally SHOULD go, if you get the chance, though. And if you ever do, don’t forget to say hello to George for us…
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[Linking up with Passion for Fashion]