As a kid, I was a supermarket manager in Kilbirnie, and each part of these wee Ayrshire towns has a distinct demographic and personality.
If my end of Kilbirnie was a person it would be an old lady in her 70s. One of my best selling non-grocery items was denture fixative, whereas the best selling item in the supermarket down by the Garden City was disposable nappies.
No kidding, the day after the local paper came out (every week), all the talk was about who had just died, and how much younger the deceased was than the person telling the story.
Even those who had so far escaped the grim reaper were not exempt.
"Ah aw yon Sanny Frew the ither day, huvnae seen him fur years"
"Me neither how's he doin"?
"He says he's daein' well, but . . . "
There then follows a series of Les Dawson-type grimaces and tooth-sucking that suggest Sanny isn't doing well at all.
