Thursday, May 19, 2005
Raggity Arsed
05/19/2005
Blustery, grey, cold weather greets us at 6.00am, then heavy rain sweeps in from the South. The forecast is bang on the money. Despite the rain the burns and rivers do not rise much, but it good to let the policies have some water. As the forecast is not too bad for the afternoon, I agree to a boat maintenance trip with John from Arichastlich. Before I leave, I must turn the thumbscrews on Lachie about the weekend’s police complaint. After a little persuasion it seems that the “elderly camper” was none other than “Bernie, the Bandleader” a notorious and tireless campaigner for ramblers and the bane of many an Argyll farmer. Much of the stuffing has been knocked out of Bernie with the enactment of the land reform act, however, Bernie had heard that we still keep a gate closed on the avenue that leads to our private garden, as such a private area is specifically allowed under the new act. Bernie, undaunted by legal prerogative arrived on Saturday, opened the gate and drove her pink Smart car up to the Tower of Glen Trollaigh and parked outside the sitting room windows. Mhairi summoned Lachie, who having asked Bernie to move her car out of the private garden was then taken to task as a servant of the landed gentry was finally referred to as a “raggity arsed serf”. Lachie responded by dropping his trousers to prove that he was not raggity arsed! Bernie rushed off to place a formal complaint before the police, who so far seem to have taken it all in good humour. Yours Aye, Archie, The Baron Trollaigh,
Archie’s Hols.
Day Three, Timsgarry to Ard Asaig. A glorious if chilly morning wakes us at Traigh Uig, I am almost tempted into a pair of shorts but resist. Another full breakfast with Richard’s speciality porridge and clear views of the Flannan Islands We pay the surprisingly modest bill, which Richard explains is all they need to survive, so who cares about tatty bedrooms it is not a priority. Then pack the motor, but leave it at Baile-na-cille to spend the next five hours tramping over the sands, crossing rivers, rounding headlands to have a picnic lunch at one of the secret beaches on Carnish. We then retrieve the motor and journey through the wild mountain landscape of North Harris, travelling on a little way to South Harris and a preview of Luskentyre Beach. Suitably bedazzled we return to Ardhsaig House and the hospitality of Katie Macaskill. A great deal of money has been spent here, and it is wonderful, apart from the décor, which is absolutely ghastly, over dollied Harrogate B&B of positively the worst order, things are not helped by our view of ten croft houses from perfect restoration to completely ruined and a rusty fish farm. The bizarre fake Victorian sanitary ware is terrifying and the sloping cistern lid claimed an untasted glass of Chardonnay. However, close your eyes and Katie’s place and cooking are superb and we enjoyed an excellent night, with a late walk in a light shower. Yours aye, Archie.
Wednesday, May 18, 2005
Lachie Where Are You?
05/18/2005
A wonderful deep sleep in the Great Bed of Trollaigh, nothing like being back home however successful any holiday trip has been. Blue sky and sunshine break through the curtains from 7.00, and it is good to be out of bed with the smell of freshly baked bread wafting up from Mhairi’s kitchen. The forecast is not too good with a cloudy wet front moving in later to-day from the west, so Lachie and I fairly whiz round the outdoor tasks before I have to be locked into the office to cope with five days of mail and messages. Much of this ever-increasing pile is good news in a way, because those of you who know my occupation in shipping will rejoice with me that shipping rates have rocketed following the super-heating of the Chinese economy. Today is a bit of a milestone as ships that struggled to command $40K per week, have brokered to $240K this week, not only has this made it very difficult to place orders for new ships, but share prices in the Diamond T have risen sharply making me lots of paper money. It is all a bit embarrassing for an old semi-retired chap, but exciting none the less. I do get hold of the Police Inspector who claims that an elderly camper was “mooned” in the glen over the weekend. The inspector accepted that I was away, and of course, no other member of the household would stoop to such depths, Lachie, where the hell are you! We must have words. Cheers, Archie, The Baron Trollaigh.
Archie’s Hols.
Day Two. Ullapool to Timsgarry. Wrapped in fluffy white robes dearest Dottie and I flit through the lounge at the Ceilidh Place to make ourselves morning tea. We admire this room stuffed with wonderful artwork from the 70’s on, borrowed, stolen or left over from a hundred of the Urquhart’s exhibitions. We face the first of our cooked breakfasts of the trip, settle the bill and head off in glorious sunshine for the Stornoway ferry. We cross a millpond Minch and lunch at HS-1 in town after a quick walkabout. Then it’s off to the west side of Lewis over the Barvas moor where 270 wind turbines are proposed and slowly motor south with special visits to the Callanish Stones, Carlaway Broch and finally the beautifully restored Blackhouse village at Gearrannan. We are very impressed with the way public funds have been spent with enthusiasm and good judgement to help interpret the past for us all, so much better that some of the appalling mismanagement on the mainland. In unbelievable scenery, we reach Richard and Joanna Gollin’s Baile-na-cille overlooking Traigh Uig. It is perhaps unfortunate that the orchestrated eccentricity of our hosts and the main house does not extend to our tatty accommodation, but what a view. Dinner was served at a common table, shared with elderly hikers and younger rock impresarios, good company, but the roast venison, although excellent seemed a rather wintery choice. We got to the top of a nearby hill to watch our first western ocean sunset for years. Can this get better? Yours aye,Archie.