'The Robert Burns Birthplace Museum is aptly located in Alloway, the village in which Burns was born', alright, but more on that in a minute, there are plenty of other places of interest in South Ayrshire, seriously.

Where better to start than the traditional, Scottish, coastal commune of Turnberry? At least it would have been before the golfers invaded in the early 1900s and latterly by President, again, Trumper, no less.

Here was the site of the indomitable Janey Godley's, RIP, one-woman protest to a visit by Big Don in 2016. Her succinct placard inspired the background to a scene in the, quite simply, sublime Succession, you know the one where Logan Roy returns to Dundee?

The 19th hole at Trump Turnberry - thanks Humphrey  - is so wide that even somebody with a half-decent camera could only just fit it in.

Yes, that snap was borrowed from elsewhere with nowhere obvious for ourselves to pull over for a peek. Besides, we all remember what happened the last time SlyBob pulled into the car park of a golf club, eh?

The building isn't as first suspected down to Trump's impeccable taste. No, what can be seen is largely a refurbishment of the original, early 20th-century hotel by a former, corporate owner back in the noughties, nice.

Not!

Turnberry was accidentally passed, actually, on the way to the 'Electric Brae', the electric what? Brae as in Scots for a hillside or a riverbank depending on who you ask or Google™ and Electric as in, well, here's the thing...

Pull over into the layby on this sloping A-road - thanks Billy  - and with the handbrake off, enjoy the ride as you roll, get this, uphill as if by some sort of magical magnetism.

Apart from being a nuisance to oncoming traffic, it's an optical illusion caused by the landscape inclining in the opposite direction, or something.

Bob, however, has only gone and missed the turnoff, idiot, so that's another borrowed snap where the road really is going downhill, really.

It's a little late to introduce the hilarious narrative device of being thrown off a bus for mispronunciation of your destination, you know the one so beloved by regular readers, yeah right!

That would certainly be the case on the way to Culzean Castle - thanks Billy , again, which is more of a late-18th-century, clifftop country house should you have arrived expecting an old castle.

The correct pronunciation is closer to 'Cull-Ain', by the way, and the reason why you've been barred from a fictional bus.

The castle is National Trust for Scotland™-run so that's currently £7 to access a deer-laden country park and a rocky beach, and extra to enter to look at some old toff's furniture, when in season.

It's one of the Trust's big hitters in Scotland, and even featured on the back of a £5 note, which, in the distant past, there still wasn't any change from when SlyBob found themselves here and were forced to hand one over.

Not that it happened today, the turnoff was missed, remember, so that's another borrowed snap, just don't be expecting an old castle.

Finally, we've arrived in Alloway, Alloway you say? Once a village of its own, it's now just about a posh suburb of South Ayr, most of which looks fairly swanky since you ask.

Now, every place in Scotland south and west of Glasgow, every place, will claim Robert, Robbie, Rabbie, Rab, Rob or even Robin Burns either lived, worked, stayed the night or simply passed through without bothering to stop, such is his renown.

What is undisputed, however, is Alloway is his undisputed place of birth and there's access to the family cottage a short stroll from the entrance fee at the Robert Burns Birthplace Museum.

Just like the cottage, the modern centre was purpose built but not by Burns' dad, and the big coach park attracts an international audience. If you're a skinflint and/or in a hurry to be elsewhere, though, there's something free round the back.

Burns died at the relatively young age of 37 in 1796 in Dumfries and this monument to the local lad appeared about 25 years later.

Nice views from in and up here, and the well-tended gardens should be up for some blooming prize or other, but here's a confession...

Bob isn't particularly well versed, Sly slightly more so, meaning not much is known of Burns' work. Apart from 'Great Chieftain o’ the Puddin-race!' and 'Auld Lang Syne' are good 'uns, but 'The little birdies blythely sing... In the birks of Aberfeldy.' comes across as a wee bit twee?

There's something inside, however, about someone called 'Tam o' Shanter' although isn't that a comical hat popularised by '80s funnyman Russ Abbot? Some, erm, research has had to be done and you might want to pull up a chair...

Thomas o' Shanter was an irresponsible individual, boozing away on market days in Ayr while an increasingly angry wife awaits his arrival back in Alloway.

After such a session, and in no particular hurry to return home to another nagging, Tam eventually saddles up and, risking six points on the riding licence, sets off on his grey mare Meg for the three-mile trot south through the dark and spooky Ayrshire countryside.

Arriving at Alloway's Auld Kirk, the old church is found to be unexpectedly lit for a full-blown and raunchy dance routine involving witches, warlocks and the devil himself.

Unsure if this is down to one nip too many, Tam watches from the sidelines until a comely member of the coven in a scanty nightie causes Tam to excitedly shout "Weel done, Cutty-sark!", a Scots way to approve of too short a shirt.

Alerted by his outburst, the witches and the devil give chase with Tam's soul only saved when his darting dobbin reaches the Brig o' Doon ahead of the supernatural pack, such entities unable to cross running water as we all know.

It's not a totally happy ending, Meg has had her tail yanked off, and Tam is in for a right 'I told ye so' from the missus when he eventually makes it home.

Scary and saucy stuff, for sure, a cautionary tale, perhaps, of leering at lassies having taken too much sauce yourself? It might be quite difficult to stage but we tell you what, you put some songs to that sunshine and you've got yourselves a show!

You could have witnessed the incident from the monument with both key locations just about visible. That's Brig o' Doon down there as in the bridge over the River Doon, of course, and unlike the Broadway and MGM™  village, this one is open 365/24/7.

Considered to be one of the early Romantic poets, Burns' use of a light Scots dialect in his imaginative prose suggests a dandyish individual who influenced the fops that followed.

Not so, the family were tenant farmers and periods of tough, manual toil took precedence over an inky quill long before the writing was eventually recognised.

That only happened in the last 10 years of his life, and manic depression, paid-up membership of the anti-temperance movement and long-standing ill health, possibly caused by the youthful and exhausting labouring, are hinted at for an untimely demise in Dumfries.

That and what could be politely described as a complicated history of personal relationships all add to Burns' legacy, which the coach park at the Birthplace Museum shows still thrives.

As does his work, which endures and even has relevance today. SlyBob are no strangers to the goings on of a Saturday night in Newcastle-upon-Tyne's city centre, and the tale of Tam o' Shanter could have been written last week from a bench on the Bigg Market.

It's just the horse would now be an electric scooter.