Saturday, September 24, 2005

Netting Poachers

09/24/2005

I am a little down to-day as our darling daughters end their summer hols with us and head back to the flesh pots of the Trollaigh Highbury house. They have been wonderful company this year and very supportive of dearest Dottie and myself. The girl’s guests have been reasonably sensible, hardly a chinless wonder amongst them, however I was a little concerned at the passion with which The Boat bade Lachie farewell, Lachie even wanted to run the girls back to Glasgow airport and I had to remind him that his duty was to our stalking guests. He rather peevishly pointed out that he was only needed on the hill because no one wanted to be guided by a “Tweed Clad Throwback” anymore; The Boat of Garten was hauling Lachie away as I started to bluster, and I will have to watch the lad. I have kept myself to the riverbank with the dogs and an occasional dram watching out for furtive poachers, this reminded me of the wonderful summer in ‘47 when Russell Campbell-Johnston and I developed a net arraignment for trapping deer in the early hours, on Dottie’s’ sacred lawn. My beloved does not approve of slaughter and gun shot within sight of the Tower of Glen Trollaigh, so Russell and I designed a net launched from the east tower by two scaled gliders to drop on the deer fifty yards off. We had a few teething problems, not least that the prey were kicking wildly and very aggressive. Range was increased by strapping a couple of shotgun cartridges to the gliders, but we still suffered many bruises untangling the victims. After a week or two, Russell came up with a net made from copper filament attached to a long trailing lead that we plugged into the mains. This was a splendid improvement stunning our prey at a stroke, but I can assure you that Health and Safety would have had a field day and Russell still carries a four-inch scar on his left hand, testament to the night that he hauled on the wrong “rope”. I cannot recall the date, however, Russell, who was a keen diver, came up with a launching system using compressed air and nitrogen. Quite difficult to source in those days, and it worked a treat, imagine our surprise when one night, in amongst the deer we caught a poacher! Only a day or two passed until Russell perfected a, all be it very heavy, portable version, and we went on to capture several poachers with the net. Russell’s next idea was to forego the net and apply direct voltage to the target with two copper filaments and modified fishing flies fired at velocity at the prey, be it animal or human. We had endless fun with this until well into the 60’s when we accidentally zapped the local bobby at 3.00am. Of course, Russell and I were as high as kites wearing our Stg. Pepper quasi-military uniforms complete with droopy mustachios, as one did then. We only avoided a stink by promising to destroy our “weapon” and making a substantial donation to the Oban Policemen’s Ball. The good Russell Campbell-Johnston dropped his invention into the middle of Loch Trollaigh where it remains to this day; however, in my honour he named it “The Trozer”. Imagine my surprise on learning that the Strathclyde Black Shirts are to add a “Tazer” to their already bulging wild-west gun belts, used mainly to impress Neds in Easterhouse when the Black Shirts confiscate their Buckfast. I will be phoning David on Monday to pursue Russell’s claim to copyright and substantial compensation. I am hoping for an invitation to the Inver from Vestey next week and it seems unlikely that I will be able to add to this diary whilst in the far reaches of Sutherland. Oh, and yes, we all know now why the hopeless Lord Witless failed to write to Dottie, what a plonker! The BarL is the best place for him. Yours Aye, Archie, The Baron Trollaigh.

PS. My dear Casino, the titles are made up. Trollaigh.

Wednesday, September 21, 2005

The Bastards Of Badenoch

09/21/2005

With some difficulty, I eventually prised from my hosts on Mull the details of my gaff at the Mod prize giving, apparently, my grasp of the Gaelic abandoned me and I referred to the prize-winning choirs as “The Bastards of Badenoch”. On learning this, I contacted the Choir Mistress and offered my most humble and sincere apologies, which she rather sportingly accepted, however, she did say, with a giggle, that she had referred to me as “That Twit Trollaigh” in her acceptance speech whilst I beamed with pleasure! Hey Ho. At the Tower of Glen Trollaigh, there is some consternation as dearest Dottie has not received the customary thank you note from Lord W, that lounge suited buffoon who was here at the weekend as an experimental “modern” guest. After further questioning, it transpires that the oick did not leave a tip form either the house or the hill, normally about £100 of which Lachie and Mhairi keep half and they distribute the rest to their helpers. Over the years, we have received politicos of every persuasion but none is so ignorant as this noble labour peer. When Lenin visited even he left £150, all be it in worthless czarist roubles. I remember the head stalker at the time claiming that Lenin was the worst shot he had ever taken onto the hill. To-day Lachie leads some clients onto the hill leaving me to browse the newspapers, I am struck by the similarity between Iraq and The Kingdom of Fife, both have several violent, warring tribal groups attacking the forces of law, both lack basic infrastructure, both have poor housing, education and overstretched healthcare. While both areas can lay many of their problems at the doors of sectarianism, at least the Iraqis are not fuelled by alcohol and couch potato TV addiction. I was not surprised to learn that West Coast hospitality providers will never accept a booking from Fifers, who are knows as “Dirty Debtors”. I understand from friends in high places that even Jack “the liar” McConnell, our First Minister was rescued by the SAS from a house in Cowdenbeath after local socialists handed him over to The Scottish Socialist group following investigations into corruption in Glenrothes Council. On a lighter note, I learn that Fifers have forced Edinburgh Council to rethink the dimensions of their proposed multi-million tram system because the average Fife lard arse will not fit the douce Edinburgh seats! I say ban fried Mars Bars in Fife! Kind regards, Archie, The Baron Trollaigh.