Thursday, January 12, 2006
Chapped Lips
01/12/2006
A slow moving low-pressure zone a few hundred miles to the west of us brings sanity to Glen Trollaigh along with southerly gales, heavy rain, a snow line at 2000 feet, rising rivers, and thunder and lightning that brings The Baron Trollaigh leaping from the Great Bed. To pull the plug on our phone, fax and modem conections before electrical surges cut everything from a chat with the in-laws to our credit card terminal to a smouldering end. The sanity comes in the shape of a message from The Gold Medal Winner to stop work on the new garden until the rain stops, this could be a suspension of some months, and however, one must assume that he knows what he is up to! After some weeks of grubbing about in the sub-soil, I am horrified by the amount of work that has piled upon the desk; at least a fortnight is desperately needed to scratch the surface of it all. Both Mhairi and Lachie come to my aid, the later with several lunchtime stiffeners that help with the great number of phone calls that flow from the library towards both suppliers and advisors. As one of them put it, “the bonhomie of the New Year is wearing thin”.
We have enjoyed a wonderful time over both Christmas and New Year; everything was such a delight with friends and family in perfect harmony. The highlight must still be our determination to celebrate the “old” Argyll New Year on the 5th of January. The evening started with a productive discussion amongst neighbours about their plans for the year. At 5’o’clock tradition dictates that we stand outside to read a letter by natural light, I have to admit that although I could read the time on my watch, it was lucky that it was one of the younger guest’s job to read the letter this year. Diana Drummond came up trumps with a lovely cure for chapped lips and at that stage points were deducted for those under the influence in public. Afterwards it is time for a serious party. One wag addressed me as “Sir Archie” but soon changed his style when he noticed his ration of The Young Ardbeg reduced. We managed a good game of football, followed by cricket in The Long Gallery. The ladies were encouraged to join in with a huge “Hide and Seek”, and I can only apologies to Mrs Carruthers when we lads fired the fifty-gun salute from the Drawing Room windows unaware that she was in the Rose Garden with her hearing aid turned to max. I understand from the Oban, Lorn and The Isles Hospital that the gracious lady is making a full recovery. Your Aye, Archie, The Baron Trollaigh.
Monday, January 09, 2006
Rake And Rake Again
01/09/2006
With some relief, I am chased indoors by wintery showers and strong winds that arrive bang on Heather the Weather’s scheduled 1.00pm. One could count on the fingers of one hand the number of foul days we have suffered over the last six weeks, such a change from last year’s soggy start. The down side of fair weather is the hetic task of constructing dearest Dottie’s new garden. I have now discovered that this massive engineering feat, which I had foolishly supposed to be a minor makeover, comes from the pen of a Chelsea Gold Medal winner and that dearest Dottie has now built a raised command post from where she relays The Medal Winner’s instructions in a gruff bark, a mobile phone at each ear. Such exercise can only be good for me, however, I am not sure what reserves of strength are left and in such wonderful clear, winter weather, my eyes lift to take in the fabulous views of the ridges and peaks of Glen Trollaigh. I only hope that I will be able to escape and trudge over them once more with the pack at heel. The past couple of days have been spent raking and re-raking areas of red sub-soil and carefully loading any stones into a dumper. This mind numbing work reminds me of the days when I was in Bengal with my father, there the women and children used to dive into the river to collect stones of any size to sell to house builders as the sandy surface of the delta was boulderless. I wonder if any of these entrepreneurs could be persuaded to open up shop in Argyll where the same trade could be carried out in Glen Trollaigh on terra firma.
To relieve the tedium Lachie and I have trundled The Great Radiogram of Glen Trollaigh out into the sunshine. After carefully levelling this impressive, imperial example of the cabinetmakers art, it now delivers light music from a selection of 78’s. A contactor delivering a few tons of Blood, Fish and Bone on The Medal Winner’s instructions, thought he was being terribly clever by christening our musak machine as “The Glen Trollaigh i-Pod”, bloody funny. Yours aye, Archie, The Baron Trollaigh.