Monday, June 06, 2005
Happy Days 2
06/06/2005
At last Monday brings a decent day, Lachie is out early testing and teasing the lawn and after a couple of sunny hours he fires up the Ransomes to perform a surgeon-like first cut of the re-sown sacred turf, watched by Mhairi and myself. Our combined prayers to The Blessed Mary Trollaigh are answered with a machair-like surface, striped in shades of lush green. Lachie mutters that it could be better but it looks bloody marvellous to me. Mhairi throws open all the door and windows of The Tower of Glen Trollaigh letting in lovely sunshine and a northeasterly breeze brings perfect fresh air into even the most gloomy corner. The glen has been surprising quiet over the weekend with hardly a walker or camper to be seen, I suppose it is a combination of poor weather, the end of all the school “half terms” and those May Monday holidays with which in our politically correct age we seem to celebrate everything from the Russian Revolution to Queen Victoria’s Birthday. I did hear one Politico referring to Whit Monday as “The Late May Holiday Monday”, absolutely bonkers! The wet weather has brought the River Trollaigh into good condition and I have been scanning it for any sign of fish. I must be patient as it is a bit early for Salmon on this river, so I can watch the odd group of canoeists or “paddlers” as they seem to call themselves, disturbing all my favourite pools without upsetting the old blood pressure. The Scottish Canoe Club has even identified Glen Trollaigh as a river where more car parking should be provided for “paddlers” exercising their rights under the Land Reform Act, over this Baron’s dead body! To be honest I really do not mind the canoeists, as they do not leave much litter or make much noise, and obviously enjoying the great outdoors, I am only miffed because their shore parties seem to drive at speed up and down the Trollaigh road. They have perhaps not realised that this is not a public road maintained by the council, but patched by yours truly. It would be refreshing if some of them would come and ask permission rather than demand more car parking without consulting the owner, or the “land manager” as the PC poofs have re-christened me. The girls phone later, and with a bossy tone inform me that “Mummy” is coming home to The Tower of Glen Trollaigh tomorrow. This is wonderful news as I am beginning to miss the old bird, even better the girls are put out by my cheery and enthusiastic response, and I feel that they have had a carefully rehearsed lecture to deliver, but I spiked their guns. No flies on this happy old fool! Yours Aye, Archie, The Baron Trollaigh.
Saturday, June 04, 2005
BT and Bollocks
06/04/2005
Sitting in the office putting a little Saturday morning overtime as this week seems to have flown by in a welter of showers; rain, gales from every direction, flat calms, mud and midges. I have spent most of the days on the phone therefore have had neither the time or the inclination to be out apart from two solid tramps each day with the mutts, who do not seem to be enjoying the conditions either. A goodly portion of my telephone time seemed to be talking to the BT call centre in Bombay, or whatever it is called this week. BT is threatening to cut Glen Trollaigh off from the rest of the world because of unpaid charges relating to an abortive attempt to upgrade the verdigries copper wires snaking into the glen to ADSL. I spoke for some hours to a pleasant chap who called me “My Lord”. My name must have triggered some distant memory of Field Marshall Lord Trollaigh who spent most of his distinguished military career in that fetid sub-continent that is until some unfortunate report leaked out about a wholly innocent involvement training young boys and girls in healthy sporting activities. As a bachelor FMLT, as he was known in the family came under Victorian suspicion that a married man would have avoided, finally the old codger stupidly sailed away on an Arab Dhow with some of his protégées eastwards towards a more liberal Thailand and was never seen again. The Trollaighs have always followed a naval career from that day. Back in the glen, one light on the horizon has been that dearest Dottie’s sacred lawn appears to be making a miraculous re-growth. Lachie is only waiting for a reasonable dry spell before taking the old cylinder Ransomes gingerly over it at high setting, he has made a splendid job of fettling up the old girl who’s Briggs and Stratton fired on the first pull after five years of standing having been replaced by a triple gang ride-on. Talk of miracles reminds me of my great great aunt The Blessed Mary Trollaigh, but I leave that for another day. Yours Aye, Archie, The Baron Trollaigh.