Thoughts In The Monthly Bath

Ah well, it's Easter and whilst you, gentle readers rejoice in a religious festival of your choice I regret that those of us who dwell in the furthest reaches of the north Argyll glens stir uneasily in the knowledge that hoards of the great unwashed will descend upon us to defecate in our ditches, cut down our trees and scatter their compound litter on every highway and byway. The problem gets worse each year and although we can easily withstand a day or two of discomforting hallooing (loud shouting being the latest, presumably chemical induced craze) at any time of day or night, booming drum and base trimmed with reeking bonfire smoke, the galling fact remains that whilst we, who have bought and paid for our miserable acreage and are bound on every side by miles of red tape and restrictions, then must watch the hoi polloi make free with our land in anyway they wish without the slightest pressure from the self same authorities who hound us. To be fair an effort has been made in the Loch Lomond National Park to weed out the worst culprits at god knows what cost, however this great effort has only moved the problem into our backyard where our nonexistent resources cannot possibly cope, still out of sight out of mind as they say. Personally I blame the lack influence from Baden-Powell figures, who along with the poor old parish priest have been replaced in the home by gigantic tellies belching out complete rubbish to fertilise the barren brains of our youth.



Still one must not carp too much, as I see the Forsythia and primroses are at their very brightest yellow, despite continued negative cash flow I have manged to purchase a toy or two, and to cap it all a pair of Swallows are inspecting the shed with a keenness that suggests they must have been here before, surely the earliest arrivals I can remember. I am busy preparing a proposal to SNH to back a bid to reintroduce three extinct mouse species under their "re-wilding" programme as I am very pleased to report that our new mouse flavoured doggie biscuits are going down a storm , although our moggies are looking a bit on the thin side as we trap every beast we can for the flavour gravy.I can even see a whole new career in mouse breeding and production, even mouse farming opening up before me. This is of course bizarre as I have spent a lifetime trying to exterminate the blighters; excellent.


As part of my Christmas reading list I have just finished "A View From The North Lochs" a compilation of Aimsir Eachainn's most wonderful columns from the West Highland Free Press of the 1980's. I challenge anyone not roll about in tears of laughter at his 1st July, 1988 "Things To Do In Bed". In fact I am considering forcing relatives to read the article as a sense of humour test, only those who hoot and guffaw will be invited back. Yours Aye, Archie, The Baron Trollaigh.

A Slip Twix Cup And Hip

During a spell of our now regular communication technical problems the weather cleared to allow me to check the levels of our 120 sqm polytunnel site, you will not be surprised to learn that there were certain discrepancies in my original calculations requiring the summoning of heavy equipment to rectify the problems. However I can report that after three expensive days of digger hire and much professional sucking of teeth we poured the concrete founds before the Atlantic low pressure systems swept in on Glen Trollaigh. We are going to leave the tunnel frame until May as the manufacturers recommend that the plastic cover is stretched in mild, windless conditions otherwise the whole bally thing will lift off like a zeppelin. The Atlantic weather also ushered in British Summer Time to the lonely glens of north Argyll, as the years pass this becomes more and more akin to jet lag pour moi, taking several days of shouting at dogs, who unreasonably want to pee at 6.00am to get back some level of time equilibrium. Why can't they just leave it at Greenwich Mean Time all year? Of course the Frogs now insist we call GMT Universal Time Constant to which our spineless government agree, the same bunch who now require me to display a SEPA certificate in the bog to advise guests that The Tower of Glentrollaigh have a registered effluent system in case they would rather not ease themselves in an unregistered loo. Life is too short to get carried away with all this nonsense, however where is it leading us as a nation? Perhaps we should indeed learn from our European neighbours who when challenged on the soundness of their decision to wholehearted embrace nuclear power generation; opposed by their populace the politicos responded that one "does not consult the frogs (sic) when one drains the swap". If only our lot had as much gumption.

With dearest Dottie hors de combant following a Scottish Country Dancing injury inflicted during a lively Strip The Willow on the marble flags of Kelvingrove Art Gallery, whilst enjoying a glass or two of bubbly at a spiffing reception; a long suffering Mhairi is now meeting my demanding standards of innovative dog biscuit design and product development. There seems to be a bit of directorial politics at board level; my recent offering of alphabet biccies that ticked all the boxes of nutrition and packaging "slump" were roundly rejected on the grounds that doggies would be offended by words such as "bitch" or "poop" appearing at random in their din dins. However lots more paid work for yours truly, even if they are all barking and the world has gone mad! Yours aye, Archie, The Baron Trollaigh.



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