Anyone fancy a doughnut? No, not that sort, silly, the old doughnut effect of the type last seen in Gainsborough. Yes, an out-of-town, leisure-stroke-retail experience, sucking life out of the high street, leaving nothing in the middle.

Only this all-too-common concession to consumerism is in a town, barely half a kilometre from where the butchers' and bakers' would have been, meaning Gregg™s is one of very few viable options for a bite.

Enjoy your sustenance down by the river, and that's the River Leven, of course, flowing south from the bottom of Loch Lomond for six-or-so miles before confluencing with the Clyde.

Not quite on the same scale as the Clyde, this waterway was once a hive of industry for the dyeing of textiles, which, ironically, killed the river.

Primitive processes involving rancid olive oil, milk and sulphuric acid will tend to do that, but the salmon and sea trout are back, and it's a good job that sort of thing would never happen nowadays, right Feargal?

Over the bridge and Levengrove Park was originally part of the Levengrove Estate before the land was sold off for the development of swanky, Victorian dwellings, not shown.

What acreage remained, about 60, actually, was snapped up by William Denny and John MacMillan, a pair of Clyde shipbuilders hailing from hereabouts.

They generously transformed and gifted the area to the town in 1885 for folk to enjoy the walkways and formal gardens, fantastic!

When it's said 'generously' their wealths were built, quite literally, by local hands. It's unlikely either of them lifted a finger here, or in the yards, and it's not as if the services of Capability Brown were employed, neither, to create the vast, flat landscape.

A nice enough gesture, we suppose, and a fine example of a free, public amenity provided by a kindly benefactor who happened to get rich on the industry. The park is just as popular today, particulary during July when it hosts the Annual Scottish Pipe Band Championships, no less.

That's 'Pipe' as in 'Bagpipe', by the way, and while the high street is was found to be pretty bare, there's still a branch of Boot™s to pick up earplugs for the earlier rounds.

While we're here, what's that hump in the background?

Heading for the hump means back over the river and zig-zagging through the predominantly post-war centre. It's predominantly post-war because what was here before bore the brunt of the Luftwaffe during it, mistakenly thought to be Glasgow.

Some of it survived, Neoclassical meets Gothic Revival on Church Street, but it's all a big front for the modern offices of West Dunbartonshire Council.

Yes, that's Dumbarton, but West Dunbartonshire Council, and nobody else seems to know why, neither?

To be fair to the Germans, parts of Dumbarton do look a little like Glasgow, certainly the tenements on Castlegate Street.

The red sandstone bungalows are also typical of some suburbs, and the new Clydeside development called Queenswater might mirror something similar in the city?

What they don't share, however, is at least one football stadium with a minimum capacity of 50,000, and some.

Dumbarton F.C. currently play in the fourth tier of the Scottish Professional Football League with an average attendance of around 600.

Punitive points deductions due to the club entering administration haven't made for a happy, recent history and plans to move to a new, purpose-built stadium were rejected by the pen-pushers at West Dunbartonshire Council.

Their ground is known locally as 'The Rock' and supporters are 'Sons of The Rock', a general description for people born in Dumbarton, but what's with 'The Rock'?

Of course, it's all about the hump, like you didn't know already?

Dumbarton Rock is your classic 'volcanic plug', a hardened lump of lava left when the softer stuff around it erodes.

Occupying a vital, strategic point, Celts, Picts and Vikings all laid claim before Willie Wallace spent the night, by which time there was a proper castle on it.

Dumbarton, the fort of the Britons, and that's the Ancient Britons, not the British with whom ownership flip-flopped during the extended period of Scottish ding-dongs.

Quite a bit of history is contained herein, then, and Historic Environment Scotland will let you in and up for a small number of £GBPs.

What's that you ask? Of course Mary Queen of Scots stayed, where didn't she?

Just the 627 steps to go, under and through what might be one of the few remaining medieval bits.

It's a lug up of two parts, so a convenient excuse for a view-admiring pause before the single-file ascent to the summit.

That will have to wait a while, because what little is left of the defences all live on level one. Early 18th-century and military, mainly, put in place when rebellious Jacobites were at their most jaunty.

Quite a number of cannons, not shown, and a munitions store are the highlights as well as the French Prison, built to house hostages when Napoleon was at his most naughty.

Level two awaits, where there are, not unreasonably, reasonable views from up here, nay, magnificent! The current weather, though, is ridiculous and only under certain conditions can Ben Lomond be seen in the background.

Any national ding-dongs have since been resolved, although the SNP might disagree, and there's no disputing who's running the show these days?

Behind and to the east, the former French prisoners were well catered for with a Pernod™ factory in the proximity.

Not really, and if you passed this on the way in, the sprawling site itself resembles a POW camp. It's warehouse HQ for Chivas Regal™, themselves owned by Pernod Ricard™, but here is all about the uisge beatha, so they don't touch the aniseed stuff, actually.

Fascinating stuff, for sure, and back on level one, there's a bird's eye view down to Dumbarton F.C.

There isn't thought to be a match on, but perhaps that's not the case? This could just be half-time and, given the average attendance, the crowd is all out of sight queuing for a Bovril™?