What's in a name?

At last a week at home at the Tower of Glen Trollaigh or almost as a day's sailing seemed to get in the way of work. Mixed weather has interfered or delayed most outdoor projects with the lawns looking particularly unkempt and soggy. However work progresses on the Trollaigh navy, which now only suffers a few expensive glitches in the electronics suite mainly caused by yours truly jig-sawing through several wiring looms in the wheel house. Visitors include the unscheduled arrival of an Austrian Jaguar Owners rally who were many miles off course in a down pour, despite a little language difficulty and demands to be shown to their rooms, we over came the reek of damp soft tops, leather jackets and flying helmets to fill the drivers with hot soup and their partners with brandy whilst navigational errors were rectified. After much hand shaking, promises to meet again (I should coco) and the presentation of a pennant with a remarkable similarity to the sort of thing that fluttered from A.H.'s staff car during WWII, the Jags spend off to Inverlochy Castle their intended destination.

As rain showers streak The Great Windows of Trollaigh I have retreated to the library to avoid dearest Dottie while she is, unbelievably surfing the world wide web in an effort to plan a visit to Germany, only hours after we have sworn on the Great Bible not to travel away from Glen Trollaigh before Christmas. I am afraid that I must admit a total lack of understanding of the female mind even after all these years. Needless to say the only way of reaching our target is to rise at 3am, drive to Edinburgh Airport and stand in a long check-in queue for a 6.20am flight to somewhere hundreds of miles from where one wants to be; this honour is only available to you on a Wednesday.That nice hotel recommended to us is also fully booked around the time of our visit. The stand-by plan is to take Otto by ferry, surprisingly when one adds up all the extras of air travel, hotel nights, hire cars etc the cost is fairly similar, with the potential bonus of straining Otto's self levelling suspension with good quantities of provisions and Christmas presents on the way home. The only down side is that I have been warned by chums that hundreds of kilometres of the above mentioned A.H.'s aging autobahn system is being ripped up making driving across northern Germany a very frustrating affair.

My good deed whilst being confined to quarters by dollops of rain has been to help rescue young Bertie Bellingham-Ogilvie from the depths of the Scottish Prison Service. Like the modern day Trollaighs young Bertie is now an accommodation provider for those wishing to enjoy the unspoilt North Argyll glens in the comfort of a crumbling castle, however unlike the modern facilities we offer the Bellingham's guests rely on a septic waste system installed by General Wade. In an effort to keep the creaking system functioning young Bertie has become paranoid about what reaches the tanks, particularly anti-biotic medicines which have slipped past his security scrutiny. Alas for poor Bertie two forceful Scandinavian females visiting as part of The Year of Homecoming caught young Bertie apparently rifling through their smalls, an innocent and easily explained mistake as he was only searching for prescription drugs that could shut down his delicate sewage system. To cut a long story short Bertie was refused bail by the Oban beak whose daughter bertie had somehow offended at last year's Argyll Gathering and ended up in Perth clink a forgotten man. Weeks past, during which the youngster should have been sprung as an EU citizen; eventually after much lobbying by the great and the good of Argyll Bertie has been freed. The official reason for his extended incarceration? His file was mixed up with someone with a similar name! Hey ho, yours aye, Archie, The Baron Trollaigh.

The Day After Tomorrow Delivery.

The beginning of August seems to be the watershed of the Scottish Summer, behind us now the long bright, hot days of Glasgow Fair hoi polloi and ahead the shorter days with Atlantic jetstreams firing plenty of low pressure systems at Argyll normally aimed at Spitzbergen. This is not to say we will not still revel in some fabulous days, however for every one of them we will now have to endure two wet and wild ones, as the evenings grow darker and darker. Although this is not too happy a prospect for our euro visitors seeking sun and lofty highland landscapes, it is of cousre pure El Dorado for we poor land sports providers struggling to find fishing and blamming for PGs, for wet weather brings Stags down the hillsides and Salomon up the rivers, so every cloud etc.

I hope you will forgive the long gaps between scribbles however we seem to be constantly on the move, no sooner has Mhairi cooked up a storm with "The Full Scottish" breakfast for our ad hoc guests and yours truly has shaken the previous evenings Ardbeg fumes from the Baronial bonce than we must make our excuses and hare off to visit almost everyone one could possibly think of. Recently we have stayed with one of Scotland's Celeb Chefs to be wined and dined around the Pittenweem Arts Festival although his finely tuned sense of humour fairly wound up old duffers like us, just wait for another ten years my boy and it will be your turn to suffer. We also enjoyed a wonderful visit to Colonsay, one of my favourite destinations. Despite its unbelievable mix of land and seascape I could never live in such an isolated community bedevilled with its demographic problems, however what a wonderful spot to visit. This time the Trollaigh Navy stayed in port and we sensibly caught the ferry for four days of non stop socialising, even the mutts were bemused by late nights, howling force eight gales, driving rain, then suddenly Mediterranean beach barbecues with lots of other hounds to chase and romp with. In days past the laird owned everything and with varying degrees of philanthropy looked after his flock, gradually this has changed so that many of the aforementioned flock own their own patch and view with great jealousy the progress of those who sit on their rights in public housing or dare to build, purchase and enjoy their holiday or retirement homes. One wag who should know better than to side against the blow-ins even penned a ditty lampooning the ability of some to "carpet the byre" referring to the change from a cow pat stiffened agricultural work place, to a space for reading and relaxation, one might argue that this is a significant step forward for conservation and civilisation, perhaps the lyricist would do well to look to his own family byre, bereft of an honest beast for many a year.

Hopefully after a furious blast to Aviemore for a wedding tomorrow things will settle a little and the old maintenance list can come back out of the drawer to facilitate the million chores that remain undone chez Trollaigh. A new definition appeared this week for "next day deliver". After many frustrating phone calls to track down an urgently required spare part dispatched from the home counties, a local carrier finally contacted me to say that the long awaited box would not be delivered by the next day as you or I might infer from the description on the package, but rather on the next day he happened to be passing which will be sometime next week; I suppose there is some logic in there somewhere. Yours aye, Archie, The Baron Trollaigh.