Wednesday, March 28, 2007
s’Morgenmufferl
03/28/2007
The weather sage has been almost correct in his forecasts, for apart from a few clouds rolling into Glen Trollaigh from the south west this evening, our weather remains fair and for the first time in yonks the blaze remains unlit in the long gallery Great Fire of Trollaigh. Some of our views have been spectacular over the past days with ten hours of warm sunshine creating floating misty ridges reminiscent of the label on a bottle of chilled Cloudy Bay. The old governor, my father used to refer to this striking effect as “maggie’s arse”, I have never been sure to whom this affectionate term referred, it may have been Princess Margaret Rose, of whom the governor was an enormous fan, or perhaps Margaret, sometime Duchess of Argyll who allegedly would display the Ducal charms at the drop of a hat, headless or otherwise. I used to consider the old duffer’s comment was a little coarse and uncalled for, however as I reach old age myself I must enjoy the same freedom to be as loopy as one likes.
Dearest Dottie and I accepted a kind invitation to the cinema to enjoy “300”, my basic advice is do not watch it. We had a lovely trip to the flics in Glasgow, always an experience, particularly on a Saturday night after Scotland has won a World Cup footie match. 300 is a Greek fantasy rather than a Greek tragedy, and amongst all the blood, guts and amputation one realized that a French director must be involved, suddenly the grotesque campness of many players and the 300 in their bizarre posing uniforms made some sense, enforced by the million decibel sound track. Only the French can really screw up a multi billion dollar movie, their genre remains in black and white with Brigitte in angel’s wings. However for fans of the source material it will be stern stuff, but not for me.
In my view another Rubicon of decency has been crossed with the broadcast of TV adverts for “stool softeners”. One should take the rough with the smooth; however it now seems that one can abuse the gut with burghers and junk and expect a chemical collation to smooth things out. What rubbish, eat plenty of roughage, lots of grains and veg, swallow gills of the Young Ardbeg and one’s stools will be as constant as the sun without a multi-national profiting from your rear end. A late turn round the policies with the hounds in the fading 9.00 pm daylight with a touch of moon shadow brings a hoot of owl and a snipe drumming, what could be better, bugger your stool softeners! Yours aye, Archie, The Baron Trollaigh.
Monday, March 26, 2007
Austrian Abonment
03/26/2007
The great doors of The Tower of Glen Trollaigh can be thrown open as spring sweeps up the glen, ushering sweet fresh mountain air into the winter stuffiness of every baronial crevice. Bright yellow daffs and vibrant pink lentern lilies stand out against dazzling white snow, whilst the local weather sage sniffs the air and fingers cast sheep’s wool to declare that a settled period of high pressure is with us, encouraging eggs to be laid and ewes to think about the perils of parenthood. The scenery matches that of the Arlberg in western Austria where dearest Dottie and I recently spent a super week of winter sports. I must admit that a few years have passed since the Trollaigh trotters skied the slopes with a tight short swing. Perhaps a little like golf, technology rules the sport, no longer will a two meter plank govern one’s tight turns, now cash and laminates, which I have only recently discovered to be an inferior flooring material, determine one’s carving radius on the white stuff and why not. We had a wonderful time on the mountains and the amiable après ski of Lech, complete with chicken racing and a bubbly birthday celebrations on dearest Dottie’s balcony, to say nothing of the “les jeune fils” competition of Bella de Notte thermals every lunchtime, a sight loved by loyal husbands of a certain age, however best avoided by those young married with all the wonderful innocent world of commitment ahead of them. To be honest, although the vast majority of Austrian folk could not have been more welcoming of the foreigner, several other miserable bastards were horrible. One assumes this to be some “Austria for Austrians” crap dating from that illustrious native, A “the dauber” Hitler. VisitAustria or whoever must tighten up their quality control to avoid drifting toward the total bolshieness of the service-less French resorts.
The lip splitting air-conditioning of the Glasgow Conference Centre has filled my last few days, thereby avoiding Beastly Broon’s Budget Balls Up, how can the even the most miserable Scottish lefty have any confidence left in this complete tosser, hopefully President Blair will manage to keep this “no hoper” in check until the SNP sweep to power in May despite The President’s pathetic last ditch effort to undermine the democratic voting system in his favour, with the Single Transferable Vote, which is designed to push out the minority parties and bolster support for the Trotskyites. One must not grumble too much when it is such an unimaginable pleasure to wake up back, at last in Glen Trollaigh and take the mutts out for an early morning stroll amongst one’s ancestral acres in a perfect midge-less morning. God it’s good to be back! Yours Aye, Archie, The Baron Trollaigh.