Friday, August 25, 2006

Lack Of Trousers In The Country.

08/25/2006

The weather forecasts have irritated me all week with their inaccuracy, almost every day they have talked of wind and rain, while we have enjoyed sunshine that burns back autumnal morning mists, light winds and, as this is the new moon, star filled nights. The threat of rain has been welcome to the land manager and the sportsman alike, for we can more or less count the days of heavy rain that we have received since May on the fingers of one hand. However, rivers and lochs are low, fishermen fret, as all animals and birds, both wild and domestic try to pack in the fluids and fat to see them through the winter months. Swallows and house martins still fill the skies above the Tower of Glen Trollaigh although they now perch on the telephone lines at first light and must be planning their migration to North Africa, may God speed them, and how we hope for their safe return next April or May.

I have not been involved in the entertainment of the girl’s young guests, as affairs have kept me chained to the desk, however judging by the noise they are all making, they seem to be enjoying their holiday. Of course, this week sees the Argyll Gathering; some would say the highlight of the Argyll year, after West Highland Yachting Week, some however, including myself, would not. I have to say it is fun, and I always enjoyed heuching and cheuching from dusk until dawn whilst dressed in full highland regalia, although summoning the stamina has become more difficult as the years have rolled by. However, I suppose as all my old chum fall off their perch I find it more difficult to deal with their offspring. Sons and daughters of dukes and earls they may be, however I remember them as snotty five year olds, rather than the Armani suited family behind the Merc’s privacy glass, while I think fondly of my chums and their fathers walking my hills, as I did theirs. Danny the Duke of Argyll’s chauffeur still gives me a solemn salute on the increasingly rare occasions that I see SB 1, however there is no cheery wave from the Cadburys in the back seat shielded by darkened glass, that I always used to receive from earlier scatty Dukes and Duchesses.

I suppose that I must be in a dark mood as I am experiencing difficulty with modern dress code whilst the Tower of Glen Trollaigh is filled with sprogs. Dearest Dottie and I still “dress” for dinner, even when we are alone, and although the girls do their best when they are in the Tower, there are not many dinner jackets at our table. At least they all make some effort before enthusiastically attacking my cellar, and I am always pleased to see that most young guests still arrive with several large bags. I shudder when some unknown guest appears without any country house pedigree and a “tow ‘n roll” bag whose contents surely cannot cope with morning rides, luncheon, afternoon point to points and then dinner dress. I must blame the Americans, who claim that jeans and a number of tops might suffice, the tops are certainly all right, however jeans take far too long to dry when soaked by bad weather, chafe when on horseback and are far too tacky in the evening. I always feel that girls should follow the example of HRH and avoid trousers whilst in the country. Yours Aye, Archie, The Baron Trollaigh.

Friday, August 18, 2006

Change Of Days

08/18/2006

I must say that reprinting correspondence makes life an awful lot easier on the old grey cells, so on this windy and showery evening I make no apology for continuing the theme. I promise that this will be the end of the Colonsay affair, at least, that is until I once more have an irrational and overwhelming desire to visit that most beautiful and magical island once more. Yours Aye, Archie, The Baron Trollaigh.

18th August, 2006.

The Tower of Glen Trollaigh,
Glen Trollaigh,
Argyll.

My Lord,

I humbly thank you for your letter. It is most kind of you to have taken the trouble to explain your position to me, and I sincerely hope that my comments about Colonsay have not caused any offence. Indeed, if they have caused offence, I offer my most abject apologies.

In mitigation, I would like to add, that all of my scribblings are somewhat tongue in cheek, they are intended to be a light humorous sketch of life in the fastnesses of the north Argyll glens, perhaps not to be taken seriously.

The Mullahs that you refer to are indeed, Muileaichs. This is the native word for people from Mull.

I must thank you for your kind invitation to your pre-ball supper in Oban, however; perhaps you should check you booking, as the Argyll Ball will be held on a Thursday night, as it has been for almost two hundred years, and in a week’s time to boot. The girls have changed a little since you kindly invited them to be flower girls at Alex and Jane’s wedding, indeed, great uncle Earnest has organised a wonderful bolt of Trollaigh tartan in silk from Thailand. Where you might remember he is currently serving a lengthy prison sentence, so that there has been much preparation for the ball here in Glen Trollaigh. The girls are perhaps a little short for their weight, however none the less enthusiastic, and I imagine that they may well have some party piece in mind, as loud renditions of “Black Betty, Bam-a-Lam” are frequently heard from the Long Gallery. Of course, this refers to a popular song and is in no way a reference to any lady members of the Howard family past or present.

I am most humbly your servant,

Archie Trollaigh.