STAGS Often referred to by the natives as "The Mooses", The Isle of Arran is bustling with magnificent Stags, despite continually being culled by the idiot locals. Most of their territory was destroyed to make way for golf courses, but the mooses don't give a fuck, and just chill out on the golf courses instead. Respect.
SEALS There are plenty of opportunities to view Seals in the wild. The guid wife enjoyed this. I dunno though, you can only really see a few slug-shaped blobs in the distance, I would recommend going to Natureland in Skegness instead, they have to do tricks for food there.
SHEEP Scottish Sheep are the maddest sheep you will ever see. They think nothing of jumping over the fences, and playing 'chicken' with the traffic. Some of them even have their own motorbikes, and one particular herd are known for holding their own Quad Racing event every other Wednesday.
COWS The Isle of Arran also has lots of cows. Can you make a noise like a cow?
The Arran Malt
The Scottish are, of course, famous for getting completely wasted on stolen alcohol, so what better place than Arran to build a Whisky Distillery?
Myself and the guid wife were privileged enough to get a full guided tour of this place, home of the world famous Arran Malt, to see exactly how they made it, and we even got a free 'wee dram' of whisky at the end of the tour, to null our senses into buying shitloads of the damn stuff.
Our guide was a drunken Scottish tramp who had wandered in there by mistake, but he proved to be extremely informative and we learned all kinds of interesting stuff (for example, if you have ice with your whisky then you are, under Scottish law, a complete puff. True!)
We had a nice tasting session at the end, ranging from the very cheap stuff (a pound a bottle, made with wood chippings and fruit flies) to the more top of the market stuff (£75, comes in a bottle shaped like a camel, one sip of it and you die).
We bought about twenty five bottles of Whisky to take back to the cottage with us, and ended up necking all the good stuff, and giving all the cheap stuff to the relatives when we got home.
Well worth a visit!
Giant's Graves
Legend tells of a mysterious race of Giants who roamed The Isle of Arran thousands of years ago. A couple of their graves have miraculously survived the test of time and lay on an eerie hill, offering a tantalising glimpse of ancient times.
Myself and the guid wife were well up for seeing these historical relics, so we packed our rucksack with a flask of weak lemon drink and a couple of Scotch Eggs and set off on this challenging journey. We were initially faced with a huge set of make-shift steps cut into the ancient rock. They went on for miles and miles, and by the time we reached the top, I was a little bit out of breath and had to stop for a quick cigarette.
We then faced another huge set of steps, leading upwards, seemingly into the clouds themselves. We bravely ploughed on, and by the time we reached the top of those, I was really getting weary and had to dip into the weak lemon drink while I caught my breath again.
Yet another set of vast steps awaited us on the next stage of our increasingly arduous journey, and to be honest, I was starting to get a bit pissed off now. By the time we'd clambered up those, I was crawling on all fours, panting like a dog, and wanting my mummy. I had foolishly assumed that we had almost reached our destination, but no, as I looked up from where I lay in a crumpled heap, another set of huge steps snaked upwards, forever upwards, like total bastards in the rock.
We finally made it to the top of those, and by this time, I thought I was going to be sick. I really did. This was horrible, my life was flashing before my eyes, I honestly thought I was going to die.
After one more set of steps and a steep climb through eerie woodland, we finally made it, and gazed proudly at our treasure, the ancient Giant's Graves of Arran.
They were wank.
Other Places of Interest
I've quite honestly seen more interesting things whilst waiting at the fucking bus-stop. I mean, just look at them. Jesus.
Brodick Castle was quite nice, if a little overpriced and gay. They had a patronising 'tour guide' in each and every room who would leap out at you and ask you things like "Can you spot the concealed entrance in this room? Can you? Can you spot the concealed entrance?"
This ruffled my feathers a little, and I promptly did find a concealed entrance of sorts, but was then told my behaviour was unacceptable and escorted off the premises.
You don't get that at Clifton Park in Rotherham, do you? And it's free. Bollocks to 'em.

Arran is also home to The King's Cave, a legendary place where Robert the Bruce fled, after murdering his rival John Comyn at the alter of Greyfriars Abbey. This less than heroic action divided Scots, and for a while Robert lost support amongst Scottish nobles and had to go into hiding. King's Cave was held to have been his hiding place, or one of them. It is here that he was supposed to have been inspired by the tenacity of a spider spinning its web.
In fact, not only is this story total bollocks (it was made up by Walter Scott) but they've even gone and blocked off the entrance to the Cave in sheer shame of the whole thing. Never mind.

We did attempt to visit The Black Cave instead though. I can't remember now what was supposed to so great about this cave other than it was a cave, and it was black, but we had just bought a useful book from the gift shop called Why Not Go On One Of My Totally Fucking Looney Walks? by M. Hatter which recommended a visit, so we packed our rucksack and off we went.
The book described the journey as "a moderate walk, slightly challenging in places".
Well, fuck me.
Nine hours after we had set off, I finally regained consciousness. My head was bleeding and I was slightly delirious, as I lay sobbing in a sea of huge jagged boulders. The guid wife had gone temporarily mental and was making friends with bits of dead crab. We had lost all sense of direction and all hope of ever finding our way home. Looking back, I like to think it was the spirit of Jesus who guided us back to the cottage that dark, stormy night.
We never did find The Black Cave, but I'm not bothered. All in all, not a recommended walk to be honest (although we did see some nice Seals along the way).

Finally, a special mention must go to The Co-op at Brodick. We must have liked it here cos I seemed to spend 90% of the bleedin' holiday in it, being dragged along by the guid wife, shopping for Ginsters Peppered Steaks and the like.
I even tried some Haggis from here, but I'll be honest with you, it tastes like shit and very probably is shit. Stick to the Scotch Eggs.

So. Why not visit The Isle of Arran tomorrow? It's even better than Rotherham.
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