Saturday, December 30, 2006
Little Red Corsa
12/30/2006
Heavy rain and gales become rather hard to bear after a few days of pleasant winter weather. The people of the North Argyll glens watch the river levels nervously, moving livestock to higher ground, checking their maintenance lists for repairs that have not been completed following the mid December floods. For these weak points may now cause further problems if the forecast for extreme weather becomes a chilly, wet reality. The Tower of Glen Trollaigh is no exception, with fallen trees still to clear, fences to raise and the water supply still to redesign. Certainly last night’s Atlantic blasts complete with midnight lightening had dearest Dottie out of bed to unplug our telephones (a quaint, though necessary rural custom), dogs howling and your truly mentally holding down the slates and roof ridging from the relative safety of the Great Bed of Trollaigh.
The reason why so many tasks remain incomplete has been the tradition of increasing indolence between Christmas and New Year. I feel sorry for those armies of retail workers who man the tills in John Lewis and Tesco whilst the rest of the world party on, be it a Brigadier or a Biologist, a Tradesman or a Triage Nurse, every telephone rings out. One has been unable to source parts for chainsaws, plumbing or material for fencing so that repairs have fallen frustratingly behind schedule. As the head of the Trollaighs, my duties have been light, the Boxing Day hunt, the odd morning’s rough shoot and of course, a finger or two in the Winter Gathering in Oban. Things did need a wee bit of a push to set the pace for the Gathering, as the Oban matrons always seem a little coy. However, the young, as always set an enthusiastic example, even hauling the backpackers from across Breadalbane Street in amongst the silk gowns and highland regalia. I was embarrassed at our Girls’ “Black Bottomed Betty” routine during Strip the Willow; however, The Chieftain gamely joined in, stamping and whooping. He may not have been so understanding in the morning when he discovered his wife’s red Vauxhall Corsa on the wrong side of the bollards protecting the Farm Foods trolley park, manhandled into place by some Glenalmond refugees. Tanya’s Taxis worked manfully to see us all back to The Tower of Glen Trollaigh, where the 29th December indoor cricket match continued to dawn, well, save for the party of oldies who retired to bed in good order. What fun! Yours aye, Archie, The Baron Trollaigh.
Tuesday, December 26, 2006
No Loo At The Kirk
12/26/2006
I sit for a moment’s reflection on Christmas, surrounded by nervous mutts, I am wearing slippers (first traditional gift), clutching a large Hendricks and Tonic (second traditional gift). The reason for the nervousness amongst the pack has been a period of prolonged singing by dearest Dottie and a choir of guests. Dearest Dottie missed her carol singing at the kirk as the pub is shut. This may seem strange to you dear urban readers, however as the kirk has no facilities, the adjacent public house normally offers relief. Most of our elderly guests do not want to risk an hour or so out of reach of a kaasie and so traditional carols and songs have been blasting from the long gallery fuelled by something a little stronger than communion wine.
The Tower of Glen Trollaigh is looking magnificent in a frost filled Glen Trollaigh, every window ablaze with light, every room dripping with traditional decoration, every fire alight. I am particularly pleased with our tree in the great hall; do refer back to December ’05 for a story about this generous gift from the Forestry Commission. It is wonderful to have the family around us; a little fretting from time to time is easily outweighed by the pleasure of their company. Mhairi and Lachie have been a huge help, their month off “in lieu” plus substantial tips from guests are worth every penny.
We opted for Goose, or rather Geese for Christmas Dinner, rather than our normal Turkey (was there some reference to this last year, do have a trawl.). Ms Lawson or somesuch has been praising this cottar’s fare and it was delicious. I fear the RSPB may not be so pleased about the food source, as I was damned if I was prepared to pay a supplier for something that is competing with my hungry flocks for grass. I am just nipping into A&E in Oban with one ancient who insisted that the best way to snuff out candles in the table decorations was to dip ones fingers in water before giving the guttering flame a sharp pinch. Unfortunately, the old bird thrust her digits into one of the girl’s glass of neat Archers beside her place, before attempting the extinguishment. A very merry Christmas to one and all. Yours aye, Archie, The Baron Trollaigh.