Ventriloquism, Laughter, and a Dash of Chaos

 

My Evening with Nina Conti

Last night I went to the Paisley Town Hall to see Nina Conti - an acclaimed ventriloquist. 

Ventriloquism — the art of speaking without moving your lips while giving voice to a puppet or character — is an extremely rare skill, with only 16 actively registered professionals in the UK. 

The evening began with three Scottish comedians. The first, who was also the host, had plenty of energy — though he spent a bit too much time teasing the women in the front row. One piece of advice to anyone attending shows like this: be careful where you sit. The front rows are a guarantee that at least one comedian will try to involve you, tease you, or interrogate you about your life. 

The second comedian, originally from Paisley, showed real potential. His bit about adopting guinea pigs in pairs to keep them from getting depressed had the audience laughing at his surprisingly thoughtful take on animal mental health.

Nina Conti: The Half Hour of Magic

After a break, Nina Conti finally came on, and immediately lifted the whole atmosphere. She opened with her classic monkey puppet and began chatting to the audience, improvising wildly. The monkey made increasingly cheeky comments while she bounced flawlessly between voices — the kind of quick, sharp wit that reminds you why she’s a master of her craft.

Then came the masks. She invited members of the audience onto the stage, fitted them with cartoonish, moving mouth pieces, and effectively turned them into her life-sized puppets. The combination of physical comedy, improvised dialogue, and ventriloquism was hysterical. She even gave the masked “characters” Scottish accents!

The Venue

Paisley Town Hall is absolutely beautiful — ornate, atmospheric, and a perfect backdrop for a comedy evening. The stage worked wonderfully for a show involving both puppetry and audience participation.

A charming detail: Nina shared that her grandfather was from Paisley, and once had a barbershop in the town. The audience loved that, and it gave the evening a warm, local connection.

Final Thoughts

Despite the uneven warm-up acts, I had a fantastic night. Nina Conti’s versatility is extraordinary: performing multiple voices, animating puppets and audience members simultaneously, improvising entire conversations, and doing it all without visibly moving her lips. She is one of those rare performers who can make an entire room dissolve into laughter — I genuinely had tears in my eyes from laughing.

My only real complaint? Her performance was only 30 minutes, which felt far too short. While ventriloquism is undoubtedly demanding, her set could easily have been extended to 45 minutes, giving the audience the full experience they came for.

I’m very glad I went, and I just hope that next time, Nina Conti & Friends truly means her puppet friends — not chaotic warm-up acts — so that she gets the time she deserves on stage.

Agnes Prygiel

23/11/2025

Kilwinning at Midnight

When Poor Service Becomes the Norm

Yesterday I went to Glasgow. It was a lovely evening until the journey home turned unexpectedly difficult. 

My train back to Saltcoats was supposed to leave Glasgow at 21:30. It was cancelled. 

The next service departed at 22:45. I eventually arrived in Kilwinning at 23:30 p.m., tired but relieved that at least a replacement bus was waiting to take me further. Except, it wasn’t.

Train Late, Bus Locked

The bus was right there — parked outside the station, dark and silent, doors firmly shut. A ScotRail staff member stood nearby and explained that the bus meant to meet our train had already left a few minutes earlier, empty, because it was scheduled to depart according to the timetable, not the train’s actual delayed arrival. In other words, it had followed the clock, not the passengers.

Now we were told to wait another 30 minutes until midnight for the next scheduled departure. We stood there in the cold November night, the air heavy with that unmistakable Scottish chill that goes right through you. Among us was a small child and a woman visibly shivering. Some passengers tried to organise a taxi, but the cost was too high. One man grew frustrated, raised his voice for a moment, then fell silent and walked away. The rest of the passengers fell into a quiet, resigned stillness.

Keeping to the Clock, Ignoring the Crowd

I was told the bus there in front of us was “scheduled,” and that we simply had to wait. I asked why the bus couldn’t just leave now, since this was when the train had actually arrived. I also questioned what had happened to the two previous replacement buses — had they really gone all the way to Largs empty? I didn't get any answer.

I couldn’t help but notice the irony: the train was “scheduled” too, but it was allowed to be late. The system seemed flexible when it came to its own faults, yet rigid when it came to passengers’ comfort.

We waited half an hour in the cold. I started recording a short TikTok video, partly to pass the time, partly because I felt this moment needed to be seen. The staff member did apologise eventually, and when the train from Ayr finally arrived, the passengers heading to Largs joined us. The bus doors opened at last, and we boarded. I arrived home 30 minutes past midnight — two hours later than planned.

TikTok Presence

I posted that short video on TikTok as it happened, and to my surprise, it resonated with many people. Within 24 hours, it had reached over 8,000 views and 200 likes — and the numbers keep rising. The comments are mixed but telling.

Many viewers shared the same frustration, saying this sort of treatment has become far too common and that passengers deserve better. Others defended the situation, suggesting that the driver might have been on a legally required break (bus drivers must take one every 4.5 hours) or that noise regulations might have prevented him from idling the engine and letting passengers onboard earlier.

How We Learn to Accept Less

All of these explanations may well be true. But they also highlight a troubling mindset — that we should simply accept discomfort and inconvenience because “that’s how things are.” Those who do speak up are briefly noticed, then quickly ignored.

But I don’t believe this is the right way forward. I’ve used rail replacement services in Scotland before, and they were always well organised and accessible. This time was different — and it shouldn’t become the norm.

When No One Speaks Up

I often travel this route — the Largs to Glasgow line through Kilwinning — and it was the first time I’d seen such a situation. What surprised me how normalised it all seemed. The rail staff carried an air of entitlement, as if it were perfectly acceptable to leave paying passengers standing in the cold for half an hour while an empty replacement bus sat locked nearby — and most people simply accepted it.

You’re the Only One Who Can Stand Up for Yourself

Yet I couldn’t help but think — if everyone there had spoken up and said that waiting outside at midnight for a replacement bus was unacceptable, perhaps the doors would have opened sooner. Instead, silence hung heavy in the cold air. And somehow it was left to me, a woman who’s only recently moved here from London, to speak up and later share the story on social media. I don’t mean that in a boastful way, but honestly, in London people wouldn’t have it. They’d question, they’d demand answers, and they wouldn’t quietly accept their fate. Something in this culture of quiet endurance needs to shift.

Hope for Service Improvement

I’d like to think this was just an isolated case. Going forward, coordinating replacement buses with actual train arrivals is crucial. Passengers should be able to wait inside the bus when it’s cold. Better planning could prevent similar problems in the future.

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Passenger Rights: What You Should Know

For anyone who finds themselves in a similar situation:

• If your train is delayed by more than 30 minutes, you are entitled to compensation under ScotRail’s Delay Repay scheme.

• If your service is cancelled and you decide not to travel, you can claim a full refund.

• Replacement transport should be provided as close as possible to your train’s actual arrival, and passengers must be given clear information about what’s happening.

• It’s also reasonable to expect shelter and warmth while waiting, especially late at night or in adverse conditions.

• While stations may be open, it’s reasonable to expect better organisation and communication, and at least the opportunity to board a waiting bus promptly — especially late at night. Seeing an empty bus standing there with locked doors, while passengers waited outside, is frustrating and shouldn’t be considered normal.

Saltcoats 11/11/2025 

Agnes Prygiel

Properties in Ayrshire: Rethinking Independence

Property in Ayrshire

When I moved to Scotland and bought my first flat, I felt like

I had stumbled into a different mindset about property.

In London, I was used to sky-high prices, impossible mortgages, and the idea that “home ownership” meant decades of debt.

Here, properties are affordable, and yet so many people choose to rent. It made me reflect on how people follow patterns that aren’t always in their best interest — and how a different approach can change everything.

Independent thinking

Buying something modest and affordable as a first property isn’t glamorous, but it’s liberating. You get security, freedom, and breathing space. You’re not chained to a massive mortgage for the next 20–30 years, and that means you can focus on building the life you actually want — whether that’s creative projects, community work, or simply having space to breathe.

In Ayrshire, you can buy a flat for £40,000–£50,000. That’s within reach of many people, yet the mentality is often: “Why bother? The place has seen better days.” But really, this mindset only exists if you let it. Property is what you make of it, and small, early investments can give young people — even teenagers who start saving a little from birthday money — a real head start on financial independence.

Practical growth and side income

Another opportunity that’s often overlooked is using a small, affordable property as a stepping stone for rental income. You can buy cheaply, manage it well, and then start saving toward another property to rent out. That creates a side income and builds financial security over time. In reality, it’s often a lack of education or reflection, rather than practicality, that keeps people locked into that mindset.

Early retirement and lifestyle freedom

If you organise things well, you can actually retire early — around the age of 50 — letting your properties work for you. That depends on the lifestyle you want, but for a young person, a modest two-bedroom flat in Ayrshire is affordable, often around £50,000, and commutes to Glasgow are just 45 minutes. It frees up space and money for creative projects, hobbies, or simply enjoying life.

Having things organised

People sometimes ask me why I’m not “working” in the traditional sense. The truth is that, although my properties don’t yet fully work for me, they’re organised enough to provide flexibility. This allows me to focus on creative projects and other meaningful pursuits.

A friend once told me about a lawyer’s anecdote, where a man went to court and, when stating his occupation, explained he didn’t work because he didn't need to - he had everything organised. That’s the kind of independence I aspire to.

The myth of London

I think a lot of people carry a certain mythology about London — the idea that career success, wealth, and excitement are only found there. In reality, London is competitive, crowded, and exhausting. I don’t miss the packed undergrounds, long commutes, and heavily build-up areas. Ayrshire offers a different type of richness: access to nature and a sense of space that allows reflection and creativity. It’s an experiment, a different life path that feels freeing rather than limiting.

Children, timing, and life choices

Of course, life choices impact financial freedom and lifestyle. Having children early can limit flexibility, as many people discover, and for women there’s also the biological consideration of menopause. But there’s never a perfect time — as a friend once said, “there’s never a good time for children.” Everyone has to make choices according to their own circumstances. For me, choosing affordability and independence first allows me to experiment with life creatively, without feeling trapped by conventional expectations.

Starting small

The lesson I’ve learned is that independence and opportunity often start small. You don’t need a mansion or a long-term mortgage to feel secure. You need clarity, courage, and a willingness to see the potential in what’s around you — whether that’s a property, a town, or your own life. Sometimes the smartest, most creative path is the one others overlook.

Agnes Prygiel

FOUND OBJECTS - MINI GALLERY

During beach clean-ups in Scotland in 2025, The Loft Collective came across a number of unusual discarded items. While each object is a reminder of waste left in the environment, they also tell small stories of everyday life — from a child’s toy to a forgotten glove.

 

 

Photography: Agnes Prygiel

When Adventure Turns into Risk

Stranded on Arran

Rainbow over Brodick Bay, Isle of Arran

I’ve always liked the Isle of Arran. It’s close enough to the mainland to feel accessible, yet still has that “island magic” to it. The way Arran is advertised makes it sound like the perfect place for an affordable adventure: climb a mountain, breathe in the sea air, then come back down for a hot meal and a ferry home. Safe, simple, refreshing. At least, that’s what I thought.

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Climbing Goatfell: The Long Haul

Difficult approach to Goatfell's summit

Goatfell itself didn’t disappoint. The climb from Brodick Ferry Terminal took me 4.5 hours to get almost to the very top. The last stretch is steep and would have added another hour. I chose instead to return along the northern ridge to Corrie, which took 2h 15 minutes.

Going down was just as tough as climbing up, with huge rocks slowing the descent. The path is well marked up until halfway, but after that I relied on Google Maps. What struck me most was the lack of distance markers — no reassuring signs telling you “2 hours to the summit” or “3 km to go.” Without those, you’re constantly guessing where you stand against the mountain.

I’d recommend bringing a head torch in case you’re still out when it gets dark and a power bank to charge your phone. And remember: there isn't any obvious mountain rescue or emergency services to call. It makes Goatfell more dangerous than its friendly reputation suggests.

Beautiful views from the higher parts of Goatfell

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Into Darkness

That lack of infrastructure became painfully obvious on the way down. By the time I reached the base, daylight was gone. I walked the last 30 minutes in complete darkness, my phone torch barely lighting the path.

The descent took me along the northern ridge of Goatfell, down to the village of Corrie. I arrived around 8:30pm, tired and cold, but still with a problem: I needed to get to Lochranza, where I had booked a bed at the Youth Hostel.

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The Taxi That Wasn’t

To me, “Arran Taxi” should mean exactly that: a taxi service covering Arran. Anywhere, anytime. You call, they come.

Instead, the driver told me bluntly: “That’s not for me.”

He said he doesn’t cover this part of the island and that 8:30 pm on a Sunday was too late for him. When I explained that without his help I would be stranded, he remained unresponsive — even though I offered to pay extra to cover his petrol, time, and effort.

Two other taxi companies on Arran didn't even pick up.

Corrie to Brodick is barely a 17-minute drive. I called the hostel and asked if they could arrange a lift for me. To their credit, the young staff couldn’t drive, and there wasn't a car at their disposal. With reception closing at 9m, the hostel agreed to leave the key out for me, but this is where their assistance ended. 

Traditionally, youth hostels used to be lifelines for hikers — now, not so much.

And there I was, alone in the dark, facing the prospect of a three-hour walk from Corrie to Lochranza in complete pitch blackness.

 

Lochranza is 3h on foot and just 17 minutes by car from Corrie

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Even the Police

Corrie and Sannox Community Hall and the waterfall - where I waited for assistance that didn't materialise - the following morning

In my frustration, I called the Scottish Police. Naively, I thought they might have a patrol car nearby, or be willing to help me. And on a quiet Sunday evening on the Isle of Arran, I doubted they were busy with a bank heist or an organised crime bust.

At first, they seemed helpful. They asked where I was and what I could see around me. I mentioned the sound of water — there’s a small waterfall beside Corrie and Sannox Community Hall. They seemed surprised, as though I was making it up. But it’s true: just an isolated spot with one lamp post, the waterfall, and then nothing but darkness and the stars.

The police told me to call a taxi. I explained that I already had — and that the taxi driver refused to come. At first, they couldn’t seem to process that. They kept circling back with awkward questions: did I have family on the island? Was there someone who could pick me up?

Meanwhile, I was standing there, shivering in the dark, with frost already coating the grass. The temperature near the ground was close to zero. A sharp wind came off the sea and I could feel my body heat evaporating, leaving me colder by the minute.

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The Walk Towards the Light

With no solution at hand, I started walking along the pitch-black road, my phone torch the only light cutting through the night. I was exhausted, freezing, and on the edge of despair. About ten minutes later, I saw a glow in the distance: the lit-up sign of the Corrie Hotel.

At first I thought I might be imagining it. That’s how drained I was. But it was real.

I pulled the hotel door, not sure if it would be open or if they’d have space for me. But it was open. Inside it was warm — blissfully, wonderfully warm — and they had a room. I paid £85 on the spot, went straight upstairs, and collapsed into bed. Relieved. Safe. With a roof over my head. No late night walk to Lochranza necessary.

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Too Little, Too Late

About 30 minutes later, the police finally rang back. Their initial promise of “assistance” had, it turned out, boiled down to this: go to Corrie Hotel and ask if they’d drive me to Lochranza.

By that time, I was already at the hotel. Police's advice — essentially asking one business to drive me to another, late at night — felt both impractical and absurd.

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Not Just a Bad Night — A Matter of Trust

This isn’t just about one night gone wrong. It’s about trust. Because once the sun goes down on Arran, there is no Uber, no buses, no trains, and, apparently, no taxi willing to leave a comfort zone — even when someone is stranded in the dark, miles from where they need to be.

What unsettled me most was the complete lack of concern and no emergency services on the island. Nobody seemed bothered by the idea that a tourist — or anyone — might have to walk for hours at night along freezing, unlit country roads. Maybe locals accept it as normal. But as a visitor, it felt careless. Almost hostile.

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Who Is Arran Really For?

Brodick, Isle of Arran

And here’s the thing: not everyone is resilient enough to handle that. Students, budget travellers, solo hikers — these are exactly the people Arran’s tourism campaigns are designed to attract. But they’re also the ones most at risk if something goes wrong.

Arran sells itself as a hiker’s paradise. But once you’re there, you discover the more sinister truth. 

If you want to explore deeper, climb the mountains, or venture beyond the obvious, you need to understand one simple truth: you are entirely on your own.

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Calling It What It Is

And I do want to call Arran Taxi by name. When I phoned them at 8:30 pm from Corrie and asked for a ride to Lochranza, the driver said flatly: “That’s not for me.”

But if that isn’t for him, then what is? What rides are for him? Why is he allowed to operate under the name Arran Taxi when he refuses entire sections of the island?

That’s not just disappointing. It’s misleading at best, and dangerous at worst. And I believe it warrants investigation by the local licensing authority under the Civic Government (Scotland) Act 1982, which regulates taxi and private hire licensing.

“It’s not for me.”

That phrase stuck. If the local taxi company won’t pick up visitors, then who will? And if the island can’t offer reliable transport, emergency services, or safe access after dark — then perhaps Arran isn’t really for tourists at all. Not safe, not accessible. And if that’s the case… why would we go there?

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Ferry Saga

Coming back from Arran turned into a saga as well. I boarded the Brodick–Troon ferry at 11:25am, reaching Troon an hour later — only to find there was no shuttle bus to Ardrossan for another 1.5 hours. By the time I finally got home to Saltcoats, it was nearly 4pm.

That’s 6 hours of travel just to get back from an island that I can literally see from my flat window. The contrast between “so close” and “so far” couldn’t have been sharper.

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A Silver Lining in Corrie

Doctor's Bath and the Seal Monument at Corrie

The best part of the trip was stumbling upon Corrie Hotel. It’s a pet-friendly hotel — you can stay there with your dog, and the atmosphere is warm and welcoming. Better still, it’s open all night, offers breakfast included, and caters properly for solo travellers with real single rooms (not just doubles made slightly cheaper). It sits right by the northern Goatfell path. 

Corrie itself is known for seal sightings — there’s even a sculpture of a seal nearby. Just along the shore you’ll also find the mysterious “Doctor’s Bath,” a large hollow in the rocks where seawater collects to form a natural pool, almost like a wild jacuzzi.

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Final Thoughts

Arran sells itself as an adventure destination. That part is true. But what nobody tells you is that adventure can quickly turn into survival. And not everyone came here for that.

Agnes Prygiel