Tuesday, January 23, 2007
Damp Dorsoduro
01/23/2007
The wind veers to the north, which brings us colder, drier weather. Sitting at the library desk, I can easily track the deer from the windows across the snow line at 1000 feet, and while I walk the hounds, they can sense them right down into dearest Dottie’s garden. Chill winter is a pleasant change from blasting Atlantic jet stream.
Lachie, Mhairi and I have travelled up to Rannoch to ready the Trollaigh railcar for our expedition to Venice. As one of the seven families who opted for rolling stock, rather than joint stock for services rendered in the 1800s, we Trollaighs have maintained our privilege. We are permitted to hitch our wagon onto any overnight London bound train. The Trollaighs seldom exercise this right, however it is such fun and today we have ensured fresh linen, a good supply of Glen Trollaigh birch logs, to say nothing of a substantial quantity of general purvey. Over the years, there have been difficulties with certain drivers hitching up the Trollaigh wagon, not least “red” Hamish McIver, the engine driver. However, in to-day’s egalitarian age most drivers are happy to tow us to London in the knowledge of good tips to come, to say nothing of fresh coffee, bacon rolls and a warm welcome to anyone venturing aft. The days of the channel boat trains are past, so dearest Dottie and I must leave the wagon for our return trip and slum it first class to Paris by Eurostar, then Pendolino to Turin. The railway wallahs have graciously up-graded us to first as far as Venice, although we will stop over with chums in Torino, Winter Olympic capital. Wonderful what the old names and conections can still accomplish without lending even the mearest bawbee to president Blair. Dearest Dottie and I have borrowed a small Venice apartemento for a few nights to enjoy the culture and a draft or two of prosecco, although spies tell us that wellies are a must this year.
Back in February, dear readers, after our “summer” hols. Yours Aye, Archie, The Baron Trollaigh.
Friday, January 19, 2007
Sick Leave
01/19/2007
I have been laid low for the past few days with some chesty lurggie. Dearest Dottie has insisted on additional layers of clothes and scarves whilst administering regular medicaments both modern and traditional. Carefully conserved log piles have been recklessly plundered to keep fires blazing day and night. I am certain that the worst is behind me, and although it has been frustrating to lose a few days of desperately needed outdoor work, my enforced incarceration has led to a drastic reduction in the piles of bumf covering the library. Small areas of hand-tooled leather that I have not seen for years have started to appear on the surface of my desk and I have received several startled phone calls in response to curt correspondence, which the guilty recipients must have gratefully assumed to be slowly composting in the splendour of the Tower of Glen Trollaigh. The dogs have been cooped up more than they are used to and through boredom have started to play up, insisting on coiling themselves around my legs as I toil away, generally being a bally nuisance. It is all very well to pat a mutt from time to time; however I prefer the gruff command and the sharp response rather than lap dog antics, although I suppose I must have planted a few whiskery kisses on the odd bitch’s head over the years.
Some of my sick leave has been spent idly surfing websites to see what lies beyond the borders of ancient Glen Trollaigh. I was brought up short by a MySpace site displaying the works of an aspiring photographer of popular musicians, Jonny K Jnr. A large portion of the gallery has been given over to snaps of a person well known to me under his own name, however here he masquerades as a Scandinavian pop idol, Nils Oslen or somesuch. If there is one thing that gets my goat, it is flagrant misrepresentation by a blatant impostor. Yours aye, Archie, The Baron Trollaigh.