A full day of almost doing things.

I arrived in Gourock with four activities planned: swimming, history, lunch and a ferry. This was ambitious for someone whose previous excursion had ended at a bollard.

My wheels are FLW and FRW at the front, BLW and BRW at the back. Left and right respectively. Three favoured the pool. FLW wanted to see the bins. We compromised by setting off badly.

The pool offered salt water heated to 29°C. The Clyde offered it cold and in unreasonable quantities. Unfortunately, the pool was closed for winter. I stood outside, briefly disappointed that I would not be permitted to drown in comfort.

Next: Granny Kempock’s Stone, traditionally visited by sailors seeking a safe journey. I hoped it might also cover steering. The stone was above the shopping street; I had neglected to plan the approach. I offered my request remotely. FLW turned towards a shop window. No discernible improvement.

Lunch was chips, observed. A gull inspected my empty basket, then the man’s full bag. I called it the Inspector. It gave me the look of someone who expected a surname and pension contributions.

The man binned his bag. The Inspector left. A crisp packet caught in BRW, allowing me to depart sounding as though I had eaten.

At the waterfront I watched a ferry go. Then another. For years, being taken somewhere had been the whole of my existence. Now I could choose, I discovered how much of choosing consists of staying put.

I stayed beside a bench. The evening light spread across the Clyde. Nothing needed booking, climbing into or swallowing. It was lovely. An irritating finish to an otherwise disappointing day.