There were kids, mums, dads, fat women, baldy fat men, skinny screeching young women, spiky haired drunk loud young men ... all having a big barney in the main reception.

They were running in and out of the hotels main bar, sloshing beer and vodka around in glasses as they took part in the debacle, (they didn’t dare leave their drinks unattended, incase someone else downed it).

“Nice!” I thought to myself as I now imagined my quiet Friday afternoon spent by the swimming pool will no longer exist.

I went into the main bar/restaurant to get lunch, the hotel was quiet secluded and I don’t drive, so I thought a swim then lunch should be a good set up for my show that night.

I managed to sit through eating fish and chips whilst the din of Cockney screamers went on, apparently they were all attending a family wedding at the hotel he next day.

I am sure it was lavish classy affair that I would have to miss as I left for Glasgow the next day.

Despite the noise and madness I made it to The Lemon Tree that night and the show went great, I did one hour and forty-five minutes onstage! I had great fun and the audience were lovely.

I slept well that night and travelled home the next day by train, watching the beautiful Scottish countryside show off its spectacular autumn display from the train window.

Saturday night in Glasgow I was lying in bed trying to sleep about 1am, but there was noise beneath the windows and I couldn’t quite work out what was going on. I leaned up and open my window and looked down and there was a young man pulling stuff out of my garbage bins, I am three floors up bit the noise was really loud as he pulled stuff onto the concrete. He leaned down and started picking stuff out of my refuse collection and was shoving it into a bag.

I know that people can steal your identity by collecting your paper bills and info, but we shred everything and recycle all our shredded paper, so that wasn’t concerning me. What did bother me was the sheer amount of noise and mess he was creating.

He moved on and started in the bin shelter across at the next flats. He was like a mad dog pulling rubbish out and throwing it over his shoulder and scurrying through all the discarded refuse that had been tied up in bags and was now scattered all over the car park.

I decided to call the police, either he was a mental patient who really needed help or he was the worst and most indiscreet identity thief in Scotland.

I sat at my window and watched the police car arrive. Now I don’t like the police and hate calling them on anyone, but I started to have real concerns about this young guy, he was manic in his search and the noise was getting the neighbours at their windows.

The police simply brought him out of the bin shelter and chatted to him; they then put him in the back of the police car and shut the door as they went into the bin shelter.

They searched the big bag he had full of stuff. I hung out of my window and shouted down “Is there any paperwork in that bag?”

The young police man shouted up “No, it’s just all rubbish to be honest, I think he has mental problems”

“Or maybe he is a Womble” I shouted back down and the policeman laughed and waved as he drove off with the poor guy.

Womble’s were animated characters on UK telly back in the 1970’s, they wore big furry suits, looked like bears and they collected rubbish from other people’s bins and from local parks to recycle. They were a big family of Wombles and the kids who watched it loved their nice wee moral stories about not throwing away good working stuff and that recycling was the way forward. The Wombles were very advanced for their time!

I think I just got a Womble put in a police cell…shame on me.

Joking aside, I hope the poor guy gets himself sorted; a mental illness where you are compelled to root through rubbish bins cannot be good for your health.