A cone beyond my capabilities.

I went to Largs for an ice cream. It seemed a manageable ambition after Gourock. No swimming, no uphill history. Just a cone and a pleasant view. I had overlooked one small piece of equipment: a mouth.

Nardini’s looked like the sort of place where people had been enjoying themselves competently for years. I waited nearby while customers emerged carrying the evidence. Vanilla. Something pink. A construction involving chocolate which appeared to require planning permission.

I have transported enough frozen desserts to cater for a wedding. None of them has ever been for me. Until Largs I had regarded this as an employment arrangement. Now it seemed personal.

A child dropped a little ice cream on the pavement. FLW made an immediate proposal. I resisted. There are standards, even when you are a trolley standing outside a café with a bottle in your basket.

The Inspector arrived on my handle. Grey mark above one eye; no intention of paying. It watched a cone with the concentration I normally reserve for a narrowing doorway. I wondered whether it recognised me. It examined the receipt and left. Apparently I remained an unsuccessful investment.

I continued towards the ferry, where Cumbrae presented an alternative day out. An island might offer a fresh perspective. It would not offer me a mouth. There seemed little point in taking the problem overseas.

Instead I stayed by the water. People passed with cones already smaller than when they bought them. Perhaps that was the point: a pleasure you had to attend to before it disappeared. I had spent years carrying things for later.

A gull landed on a bin. The bottle caught the light. For a moment I enjoyed what was already in front of me. Then somebody passed with two scoops. Personal growth has its limits.