Wednesday, January 19, 2005
A Day Away
01/19/2005
Moving about the Tower of Glen Trollaigh before light, as I have been invited out for lunch and must meet with the Kerrs in the car park of the new half million pound surgery in Dalmally by 8.30. The morning weather is not too bad, still plenty of snow, dry, dull and still, with a temp of about 4 degrees. However we face dire warnings from Heather the Weather about conditions approaching us from the Atlantic. I manage a quick jog round the policies with the pack before setting off, fortified by a plate of Mhairi’s unbeatable porridge. Driven by the Kerrs we sweep into Oban where they have several appointments, but we are to meet at the Eeusk for lunch. I must say that Oban is looking it’s worst as I collect a few items of ironmongery and groceries. Normally one cannot park in George Street, to-day its empty, although the glowing figure of a traffic warden in high reflective jacket may have something to do with it, what short-sighted tossers the council are to try and balance their deficit with parking charge income, when it’s as plain as the nose on one’s face that free parking would encourage many more visitors. One must have an incentive to stop in Oban. Every second shop is shut, then it starts to rain. Horror of horrors the Eeusk is shut, swept away on a sea of insurance claims following last week’s storm. However they are to re-open soon, thank God. It’s tricky to find any Eatery in January and we end up at the Tex-Mex on the South Pier. Full marks for trying, but not quite what I was hoping for. We are a large party of friends and family, but much of the conversation is centred on medications and spectacle styles and prescriptions. I prefer a more boisterous atmosphere! Home in poor weather, heavy rain and 90 mph gusts from the west. Lovely to receive a message from Major Hayward asking about some of my family. The major refers to the
Prussian family branch, I should stress a cadet branch,
the Saxburgh-Trollaighs. They dropped the Saxburgh after being mercilessly ragged for three generations at Eton (rather than the Eaton referred to by the Major) as “Supermarket Trolleys”. My own alma mater was Trinity College, Glenalmond. In those days, devoid of central heating and long trousers, but rich in bullying and beating. I would recommend this college to any family as it made me the man I am to-day. The very memory makes me reach for the Ardbeg. Yours Aye, Archie, The Baron Trollaigh.
Tuesday, January 18, 2005
Winter wonderland
01/18/2005
A grey dawn with a strange light effect, yes, lots of snow. My Glasgow trip for supplies and a night at the club, is off. Lachie and I attack much overdue maintenance on the main staircase. Lachie is a man who understands wood, but is no joiner. I am a hopeless amateur. I often reflect on how much more sensible it would have been to study plumbing or accountancy rather than waste those years as an RN subbie. I phone round the glens to discover that Dearest Dotty is already at Arichastlich for coffee having Langlauffed through the long glen at first light with two of her Collie/Lab crosses for company. Dotty’s family “finished” her in Norway rather than the then fashionable Switzerland and as a result she has the finest grip on winter survival of anyone I know. Indeed if truth be known I fell for her hook, line and sinker the first time I saw her single pole, Telemark turn executed in Glen Coe. Whilst on the phone I hear that John has almost reached the “Phial of Virtue” for his new product, but research is on-going. The weather brings westerly gusts and wintery showers and a bit of a thaw, but as the day wears on some blue patchs appear, and a good sight of a half moon comes later. I take the dogs for a trudge up beside the Alt an Tighe in deep snow. Dogs love to fool about in snow almost more than children, and its a delight to watch their frolics. Wonderful views of the cairn high on the cliffs overlooking Corrie Damph with wind blown snow surging round it, 2000 feet above us. We come upon four thin stags, they are moving closer to Dotty’s garden. Our limited supply of Lion dung will need to be deployed if they get much closer. No delivery of the post today. I remember Willie the postman, who for fifty years without fail breasted snowdrifts pushing his red PO bike up the six miles to the tower, cap tied on with a thick woollen scarf. Now the buggers won’t budge if the CD player is not working in their van. Why must the working man be home in time to watch “Neighbours”? I feel an Ardbeg momment coming on to calm the nerves. Yours Aye, Archie, The Baron Trollaigh.