Wednesday, August 24, 2005
August Storms
08/24/2005
A very stormy night forces a 2.00am tour of the buildings with Lachie, naturally nothing will do but that the pack of assorted hounds accompany us, their ears streaming out in the 50 mph Southerly, Lachie and mine are heavily protected by earflaps and woolly bunnet. Our worries are groundless, as the old Tower of Glen Trollaigh and the home farmhouse have withstood many a wilder night. The odd break in the tearing clouds give spectacular views of the waterfall on MacDonald’s ridge, 2000 feet above us, blowing straight up to the stars and we can hear, above the roar of the Alt Trollaigh and the River Trollaigh, three trees fall somewhere further up the glen. Lachie, the dogs and I retire to the Boot room for a dram or two to ward off any chill. Lachie seems content to stay with the bottle for an extended weather watch as I make my way through a draughty Long Gallery to the Great Bed of Trollaigh and the warm comfort of a protesting dearest Dottie. By 8.00am Lachie, hounds and I make a wider sweep to check on the sheep flock who as usual are well tucked into good shelter against the still gale force winds and occasional heavy shower, thunder rumbles in the distance. The highlight of the next few days will be a rare visit from The Rev. Mungo Trollaigh, my very elderly Uncle, and my Aunt Morag; these two wonderful Trollaighs have selflessly dedicated their long lives to missionary work in Sub-Saharan Africa. As a family, we earnestly believe that our relatives have made a substantial difference to the education and expectations of the young girls under their care, and always give generously to support Mungo and Morag in the “Trollaigh Young Ladies Bush Schools” programme. Aunt Morag is beautiful, disarming and as black as the ace of spades, dear Uncle Mungo is commanding, mischievous and adores his visits to the glen and I hope for good company, wit and sport, of course both of our girls love them dearly and I relish a wonderful long weekend ahead. Yours Aye, Archie, The Baron Trollaigh.
Tuesday, August 23, 2005
Soaking Tweeds And Heady Drams
08/23/2005
As I sit in Glen Trollaigh this Tuesday watching the rain tip down and listening to the forecast of worse to come I can spend a while in peaceful reflection rather than the planned arduous day on the hill stalking with Lachie and two chums, which only fools or poachers would consider in this weather. I can remember many long days crawling around assorted Scottish mountains in soaking tweeds searching for the perfect shot. Twenty years ago, I yearned for the September camaraderie of fellow stalkers and the smooth, oiled efficiency of the faithful Mauser when the momment came, afterwards the pagan ritual of the Gralloch with the great beast still twitching, followed by many a tale of the dram, or several drams as body heat warmed the rainwater sloshing from neck to boot. Before the sacred momment of the offer of a quaich from the Laird’s favourite flask, many a seasoned stalker will tie up his earflaps, even in the most appalling weather, to avoid the slightest chance that he might miss the well-earned traditional invitation. Now I prefer rough walking and a chance shot in reasonable conditions, or better still my favourite river pools after a few days of heavy rain. I seek the wild gullies, swirling torrents twisted by huge boulders, the peat brown spate water with just a chance of an encounter with “The” fish. Thank God, I have all these pleasures on my doorstep. Rural life presents many problems and we are often misunderstood when we complain of the lack of services demanded by urban couch potatoes who, in turn abuse our rural hospitality with bad manners, rudeness and litter. However, this mutual mistrust pales when I see the blindingly obvious hidden agenda of President Blair to become President of Europe. Only now do a few has-been politicos swing behind the campaign to stop the disbanding of the Scottish Regiments, surely even these fools must realise that the reduction of the Army strength is simply to fit the new Euro-Army of 6000 man units. Will someone please explain to me why have we placed the last shipbuilding contract in Scotland with a Polish yard? sacrificing yet another of our traditional industries to a region of arrivist Europe, which is as we speak under investigation for illegal support of their shipbuilding industry? The only amusing news is watching that poof Lord “Mike” Watson, a Blairite toadie, squirming in the dock accused of setting fire to the curtains at some Scottish Executive piss up in Uphall. I sincerely hope he is shipped off to the Bar-L without delay. Unfortunately, Watson has friends at the highest level, this influence will trigger President Blair’s laughable double standards, and the poof will doubtless avoid detention and the automatic loss of his title and parliamentary seat. On the other hand, might they be brave enough to drop him right in the shit? I do hope so. Yours Aye, Archie, The Baron Trollaigh.
PS. What a pleasant surprise to hear from Doc Findlay who made me cough on many a bitter day in Tannochbrae. May I reassure you, kind Doctor that I have been following your advise of gentle exercise and moderation in all things. In fact my tum, horizontal or vertical is greatly reduced, particularly since my fortuitous marriage, as conselled by you, to a much younger bride. Please do give us the honour of your company at the Tower of Glen Trollaigh in the near future. Trollaigh.