Wednesday, February 23, 2005
Norwegian Fish Farmers
02/23/2005
I sit in the office with a wonderful moon shining down from high in the eastern sky, very easy to walk around outside by its light, and still one day to go to full moon and my wedding anniversary! This afternoon has given us wonderful alpine weather, blue skies, sunshine, easterly wind at zero degrees. This morning was a bit grimmer with mountain fog, snow showers and feeling very cold. However, the radio reports much worse weather to the east of us. The larger garden birds are looking for food, Blackbirds, Thrushes; Fieldfares etc. smaller birds are numerous with all finches, tits, robins and crossbills in view. Buzzards are pairing up and I have a ringside seat as a Sparrow Hawk has a go at a tree full of Chaffinches. Down the glen, woodpeckers are about, and walking outwith the garden puts up snipe and woodcock. At night, Owls are in the beech trees. There is a lot of spring bird song, so love is in the air. Even my old enemies the hoodie crows are bravely moving closer to the Tower. We have such a wealth of birds and animals in their natural habitat that I sometime wonder about the wisdom of some forms of artificial animal husbandry. My personal “bete noir” is salmon fish farming. As far as I can tell, there is bugger all market for this product, which is now completely owned and controlled by the Norwegians, a strange race at the best of times. Why produce a completely synthetic, poisonous and tasteless version of a magnificent wild animal, that then causes untold damage to natural native fish stocks, when the production has to be chipped into cat food at a loss. Lets face it any sensible cat will not eat it either. Is it the global economy? Or is it simply good old-fashioned corruption, money laundering and racketeering? God knows, but I do notice that huge unplanned losses of farmed salmon occurred this January during severe weather when sea cages broke up. Firstly, who is paying for this, secondly, this is an ecological catastrophe with the potential of a major oil spill. Why is there no national outcry? Who stands to gain? I work away indoors in the morning, but as I nurse my wrath about fish farming, dearest Dotty and I manage a bracing climb up the Alt Trollaigh marvelling at the signs of much older settlements and run-rigs in the glen, and wondering at the hard lives that must have been led here only a few hundred years ago. Time to warm myself by the fire, Ardbeg in hand. Yours Aye, Archie, The Baron Trollaigh.
Tuesday, February 22, 2005
Hats
02/22/2005
We still have a strong, bitterly cold east wind, but it keeps us mainly dry with only a few wintery showers about 4.00. However, the skies are cloudier and we only have a few glimpses of sun at midday. Again, we enjoy a dramatic sunset. We manage to spend most of the day outside, well wrapped up against the cold. Almost all my phone calls are returned today which must be some kind of record, but we fail on the wheelie bin front, no surprise there then! I notice that dearest Dotty continues to wear her woollen hat throughout luncheon, I politely refrain from comment, but she notices before we go out again, and is very annoyed with herself. Dotty is worried about daftness, but it sets me to thinking about hats. I believe that we should wear them much more often, perhaps if the baseball cap brigade adopted something with style and individuality the world would be a better place. I count up my own collection and find at least half a dozen styles and materials that can be used everyday, not including my more bizarre Top Hats and Pith Helmets which have rolled down the generations. One style missing from the collection is the Deer Stalker, this would suit me well, but I am afraid that friends from town would ridicule me during August and September, when this headgear is the preserve of the professional rather than the amateur. One is often warned that the use of Deer Stalker earflaps can be dangerous, for although very cosy, one can miss vital information, such as the offer of a large dram on the hill! I do know one very good story about two Irishmen and a hat, but in the interests of good taste, I will leave that for another day. On the home front, all is peace and tranquillity. The number two daughter phones from London to find out why she is alone in Highbury, the call is taken by Mhairi, much tutting and cooing follows before the eldest grabs the phone and disappears for an hour. I am hopeful that the eldest is going to stay for some R&R. The signs are good as she was up early with the dogs, dressed in good country wear, the London togs and those witches’s shoes seem to have been abandoned. She even joined me for a “very young” Ardbeg nightcap last night, and let us face it; it is not as though she has ever had a job that she needs to rush back too! Yours Aye, Archie, The Baron Trollaigh.