Day 11 - Ayr - Arran.

 Pistons! I thought and opened my eyes to be faced by only the grey tarp I was sleeping under. The thunderous roar of a massive diesel engine was approaching fast as I struggled like a paratrooper trying to separate from his parachute. By the time I'd broken my head free the large tractor that was raking the beach was raging past us at sphincter twitching proximity. I had no idea such machines existed. Hudson, lets get the hell out of this town, even the beach is trying to kill us.
Today is an easy twenty mile push and I keep my head down as we pass by miserable Troon and on to the shithole Androssan. It was really lucky we hadn't had to spend the night here, we'd have been robbed or eaten by rats.
I've committed to traveling to Kintyre today by buying the 'Hop-scotch' ferry ticket instead of a return to Arran. The ticket was only ten pounds and the trip took fifty five minutes. I slept on a couch in the lounge with all the other dog owners. The room smelled like a cinema and our dogs just eyed each other for an hour waiting for the chance to pounce
We've arrived in Arran. It's a misty day but still really pretty. We came across the brewery but it's closed so I pushed us over to the beach and laboured to pitch the tent using heavy rocks in place of pegs. It's an idyllic little spot here on the sand. Ten minutes ago a man walked past swearing to himself and I've just observed him furiously driving golf balls into the ocean.
Funny day.