Wednesday, May 24, 2006
Windmills Of Your Mind
05/24/2006
Our seasons seem to be reversed, the Georgian french windows in the ground floor drawing room have been blown open by the gales for the first time in one hundred years and the chill has brought demands for the Tower of Glen Trollaigh heating to be stoked up again. Dearest Dottie strides about the corridors wearing an ostentatious Puffa and winter scarf, whilst Lachie and I have been driven indoors by heavy rain. I sit at my desk complete with shooting mitts, looking up at the snowy tops that surround the glen. Upon checking my e-mail, I find several messages from ladies of a certain age unfairly comparing me with the millionaire, “Two Shags” Prescott and berating me for grabbing EU funds, while others more deserving than “certain pompous aristocrats” are not receiving the benefits they deserve. I can only assume that these misguided dears are worried about the numbers of free walking sticks and pushchairs in Fort William or somesuch, silly duffers.
I must be careful, for legal reasons, not to mention alleged corruption and the Argyll and Bute Council in the same sentence, however I have discovered a little piece of chicanery that indicates that ABC are not as daft as they may appear. ABC has supported my planning application for a modest wind farm on a mountain shoulder overlooking the village. This is not too surprising as The Scottish Executive must take the final decision, therefore ABC can display its “green” credentials without taking any responsibility for any other matters. I must say that I have no firm views on the technical pros and cons of wind power, however if some Johnnie is prepared to pay me £80.000 per annum for twenty five years, and support two or three local, full time jobs for the same period, let us bight their hands off! Local public meetings have been a tad stormy, the goatee-bearded brigade seems determined to hurl themselves onto the whirling turbine blades to protect bird species that their own interference has frightened off years ago. However, I should warn the local supporters of the scheme not to expect the traditional annual handout to the Community Council from the energy company that has been a bi-product of wind farms in the past. Let ABC step forward, for legislation has been tweaked so that if ABC supports our scheme before The Scottish Executive, all funds will be paid into their “Renewable Energy Community Fund” by-passing the CC and will be theirs to disburse as they see fit, presumably to antifoul the council leader’s yacht. I shall bet a pound to a penny that not one farling will by spent in the North Argyll Glens.
Speaking of annual payments, I am reminded of the occasion shortly after the war, when the bumbling Bursar of Trinity College Glenalmond, my Alma Mater, invited parents to pay the fees at the start of each term. Thereby easing the cash flow of the traditional single annual payment, or anual payment as the unfortunate Bursar put it. One bright parent sent his cheque by return hoping that he could “pay through the nose as usual”! God bless you all, my dears. Yours aye, Archie, The Baron Trollaigh.
Friday, May 19, 2006
Silverbacks And The Greek Advisor
05/19/2006
Rainwater sloshes around the old motor as I trundle down the brae into Oban for some supplies. Traffic seems slower than usual and I find George Street is forced to a snail’s pace by a line of huge campervans illegally parked up on the “no waiting” side without either of our nippy traffic wardens in sight. (One of these blighters once threatened to book me for “Obstruction” when I put a wheel on the pavement outside the Hydro office, whilst hurrying to pay a bill before the bailiffs called, no donation from Glen Trollaigh to the Policeman’s Ball that year, the buggers!). I pull up outside the Vets to offload assorted mutts for jabs, clipping and infusions, and wander back along George Street, to window shop and check the lunch menu at Coast (not promising). Imagine my surprise when I twig that all the campervans, which I assumed formed some celebrity convention, all sported disabled parking permits, must have been twenty of them. Over a strong black at the Eeusk I am told that these blow ins are Silverbacks, whose arrival has long been dreaded on the west coast. Legal difficulties and soaring prices on Costa Rip Off, plus the sundries intricacies of using free health care, benefits, pensions and one assumes avoidance of UK council tax, has forced large numbers of over sixties from Middle England onto the road during the summer months. For the last few years they have roamed northern France and the English south coast, however, increasing numbers have forced a tidal surge into Scotland. They spend no money, having loaded their freezers in a Birmingham Aldi, but do use tanker loads of fuel and water, distributing the contents of their chemical kazzi’s and waste bins as they travel from beauty spot to beauty spot. One hears that they also tend to congregate for wild noisy parties, despite the restrictions of walking sticks and zimmer frames, let us hope the Scottish midge comes to our rescue once again.
Our research complete, Lachie and I have planted up one hundred acres of Tobacco to get our noses into the trough of £900 million worth of EU tobacco farming subsidies. The additional benefit is that if we sell the plants on at the farm gate to satisfy the cravings of Argyll smokers there will be no tax due to Chancellor Brown! We have also applied for a Greek farming advisor to help us with development of the crop. It must be my age, but it has taken me a couple of weeks to get my head around the EU rule. Which will pay me handsomely for planting a crop that does not grow here; send an advisor from a country that is currently under investigation for fraudulently receiving subsidy for the very same crop that it has not even planted. All to be sold, tax free, in a country that has vigorously imposed a smoking ban for reasons of public health. I am not a supporter of the common market, but when in Rome, my dears! Yours aye, Archie, The Baron Trollaigh.