Saturday, June 18, 2005
Dib-Dib Dob-Dob
06/18/2005
As a lad and a keen sailor, I used to spend many an hour “waiting for a breeze”, strange that some seventy years later and in a landlocked Argyll glen I should be constantly studying the leaves on bushes and trees, still waiting for a breeze! Overcast, muggy conditions with temperatures regularly over 20 degrees have brought all sorts of biting flies out in their millions, with the slightest breeze they drop to the ground to be scooped up by grateful wagtails and the human population of the Tower of Glen Trollaigh rush outside to work in the garden. The ladies work sedately but Lachie and I tear around with the roar of chainsaws, strimmers, grass cutters and excavators for an hour or so until the breeze drops and the little beggars are chewing at my eyelids. No command is needed as we all head for the kitchen to towel off sweat and midges, and crack open a Stella or two. It is strangely satisfying to be controlled by the weather rather than by some artificial deadline. BBCi weather maps indicate that the whole of the UK is enjoying 25 degrees, sun and a cooling southerly wind, except for a small grey, windless patch over north Argyll! However, there is hope for Sunday and Monday. Dearest Dottie and I enjoy a wonderful evening at Arichastlich with the Kerrs to say farewell to the Rev John Shedden and Jeannie, soon to be heading off to their new calling in Spain. An irreverent dinner with good friends and many hilarious thumbnail sketches of local characters, reminding me of the late lamented Rev Jack Masterton at St Paul’s in Greenock. We shall all miss the Sheddens both pastorally and as good friends, we have loved them for the past three years. I narrowly avoid accepting Jeannie’s suggestion that I replace her as Group Scout Leader when Dottie gags me with a napkin. This uniformed position would suit me well, particularly as a reactionary and a distruster of small children; it would also be ironic as in fact I was dishonourably discharged from the Scouts as a nipper over some trivial matter with a toggle and a knot bag. I remember my father being furious, but my grandfather, still alive at that time laughing like a drain and telling the story of the brokerage deal with Baden-Powell when he chartered a Trollaigh boat to bring god knows how many thousands of African Scouts and Guides from Lorenzo Marques to some loopy international jamboree in London. There was terrible trouble with B-P when the African Guides landed at Southampton topless. B-P had to be physically restrained and then uttered the famous Dib-Dib Dob-Dob stutter that has passed into folk history, though few know the true circumstances. I wish you all a pleasant Saturday evening and of course a happy father’s day. Yours Aye, Archie, The Baron Trollaigh.
Friday, June 17, 2005
Spirits Lifting
06/17/2005
The weather does nothing to lift our midweek blues, damp, windless and below average temperatures. My days are spent in the office and it is very difficult to find motivation even when Mhairi tempts me with fresh coffee and home baking. On Thursday, I have an appointment at Arichastlich with the Kerrs to discuss marketing plans for Diana Drummond in 2006. After intense discussions, John and I nip into Oban for stores and put to sea in The Mhairi Katharine for a spree. This is the turning point of my week as we chug westwards through the Cuan Sound leaving the leaden skies of Mid-Argyll behind and head into glorious sunshine, warmth and a smooth rolling Atlantic swell. We listen to the Coastguards trying to untangle a problem with a yacht and the new DSC radio system. In turn we receive a low pass from a Naval helicopter, we ignore their radio chatter, needless to say these modern day technophiles do not acknowledge my respectful dipping of my commodore’s flag, which I always fly from The Mhairi Katharine’s mast head when I am on board. We stay at sea for a couple of hours and then return to the glens via a pint at the Glue Pot in Connel that has recently been refurbished and is worth a visit. As I review my happy afternoon I remember that we Trollaighs had a Diana in the family, my Great Aunt whom I recall quite clearly, she married a famous theatrical chap, Derek MacIntosh and enjoyed a long and happy marriage in London. They had no children and years later I was told that although they spent every night of their married life together, kissing and in the comfort of each others arms, no other action took place. It turned out that poor Derek was a bit of an amateur shirt tail lifter, which in those days was a criminal offence. A sad story of great admiration, loyalty and friendship, but a love unrequited. It looks as if a breeze might pick up and some blue skies appear, out into the garden with dearest Dottie! Yours Aye, Archie, The Baron Trollaigh.