Friday, March 09, 2007
Trollaigh Spawn
03/09/2007
In the seventeen hundreds Captain Timothy Trollaigh was fairly whizzing back and forth across the Atlantic with cargos of slaves, timber and spices, I must be extremely non PC by admitting that this profitable enterprise was to lay the foundations of Trollaigh Shipping known to one and all as The Diamond T. When retirement from the sea became preferable to some distant gaol, Squire Timothy had the good sense to buy up a bit of Devon not far from Salcombe rather than return to the discomfort of the north Argyll glens. Trollaigh Cove still remains with some distant relatives, proving to be an excellent investment as a site for a small tent will set you back £3.2 million in those parts. Incidentally I learnt the other day of some salty tar who had spent a couple of years cruising round the globe could not believe his misfortune when his long awaited UK landfall at Salcombe cost him a £25 fine from the harbourmaster for anchoring overnight in the Salcombe estuary. Welcome home to the land of the free, old boy!
There now seems to be some effort by the media to cash in on the 200th anniversary of the abolition of slavery. Moody and misty video backs a fettered column humming earthy spirituals to attract viewers to yet more lower budget TV rubbish. The feel good factor is strong, with the majority of white folks well into the comfort zone of forgiveness from strongly featured, ethnically garbed Afro Caribbeans. I must stress that in no way do I endorse slavery of any sort, double standards seem to abound amongst the media pigs as it is considered fair to report anti-capitalist, anti-development eightieth century wallpaper, yet ignore girls sold to-day for £2000 in a Heathrow car park, for a life of scivving or worse in Newton Mearns. Even with my basic grasp of economics 1700s pennies are more than a match for devalued 21st century Heathrow pounds.
Here in the reality of Glen Trollaigh weather fronts whip in from the Atlantic bringing stinging rain and sleet, and the snow line dips back towards the garden. Yet in between the blasts we have lovely early spring sunshine, frog spawn fill the ponds, Oyster Catchers move onto the banks of the Alt Trollaigh, frog dodging becomes a driving skill and a total eclipse of the moon gives a five year winter sky extravaganza. Who would wish to be anywhere else in the world, well one must admit that the traditional spring digging out of the septic tank soak away becomes a little tiresome. Yours aye, Archie, The Baron Trollaigh.
Sunday, March 04, 2007
Bloody Bentleys
03/04/2007
A strong south easterly brings heavy rain this afternoon and I am forced indoors as chilly water starts to trickle through the battered Barbour. Fortunately the drawing room fire has been alight all day to warm an ancient or two, so it seems most sensible to sit here taking advantage of a lap thingy, and scribble away. The famous garden view starts to fade in the rain and mist, occasionally a mighty gust hurls a bucketful of solid spray against the French windows throwing garden birds in every direction. My mind starts to wander through the roof spaces revisiting old leaks that will start up in these conditions, surely I can scuttle along to the boot room and find a stiffening Hendricks and Tonic while the household are busy with Sunday pm bits and bobs. The week has brought mixed weather with an extremely wet start, the Tower of Glen Trollaigh being cut off by floodwater overnight on Monday and Tuesday am; however the turning of the calendar favored Glen Trollaigh with some of the first long days with the odd burst of warming sun. Early flowers push through, buds abound and sheep lie contentedly on the sunny hillocks, loose soil shows at the entrances to the badger’s sets as mothers prepare for new arrivals.
Our diary has been full all week, although the highlight must have been the annual visit to the “am-dram” musical in the Corran Halls, Oban. This year’s effort was “Oklahoma”, and first rate is was too, despite the traditional bum notes, it possessed huge energy and enthusiasm. It was easy to spot familiar Argyll ladies on stage, both young and not so young, who in their excellent costumes and make-up had many an old codger shifting uneasily on the rock hard seating. If I was to be hypercritical I would have to say that, in the genuine effort to provide “good value”, so important at local events, the three hour production could have been edited a tad. However it was good to enjoy the bar in the auditorium during the performance with proper glasses rather than the ghastly health and safety plastic rubbish.
On the night of Oklahoma our party supped a pre-threatre at Eeusk on the North Pier; this is still very good and of course a superb location. I do feel that their prices are getting a little naughty, particularly in view of the omissions in their basic wine list. I could be bold enough to suggest that the cheerful owner parks his Bentley Continental “E3USK” out of sight of the punters before he presents the bill. A new venue, The Dungallon Temple, a converted public loo round by the yacht club beckons, with realistic prices and an even better view, a report will follow, if we can ever get a table. The owner must be a lefty of some sort as even a mention of The Baron and Baroness Trollaigh does not seem to penetrate their “full tonight” waiting list! It will have to be a substantial bung again, speaking of which, what fun with “cash for honours”, all of “us” know that it has been going on for eons. I am certain the first Tollaighs must have risen through the ranks by removing some sodden Scottish serfs for Edward the Confessor or some such. At the risk of repeating myself there is the lovely story of Beaverbrook, who when asked if he felt that he should be ennobled for services to communications and charity, reposted; “nonsense, I’ll buy one like everybody else”, and that was a mere fifty or sixty years ago! Now I wonder if I can navigate to the boot room once more before bath time, or will the womenfolk be wary, wish me luck, cheers! Yours aye, Archie, The Baron Trollaigh.