Thursday, January 20, 2005
Glasgow visit
01/20/2005
Once more I have an early start to my day, I find this difficult as the natural rhythym is to hibernate until the gales subside, or at least to sleep ‘til daylight. I rattle to Glasgow in the estate van to collect supplies and parts that are only obtainable there. I am fascinated by the number of engineering workshops, metal smiths, wrights and proper joiners. I visit these old fashioned places and watch in wonder at the skills of the craftsmen. The Trollaigh fortunes stem from the Clyde, first as early coppersmiths, then shipbuilding and finally ship owning, the blue and white “Diamond T” house flag has flown proudly for three generations across the seven seas.Why do we not value manufacturing and manual skills anymore? Who am I to talk, my van is assembled in Portugal, my wristwatch in France and at least fifty percent of my casual wardrobe comes from China. Heaven forbid a natural or civil disaster that makes Britain survive on its own. We would go hungry, have nothing to wear, have no fuel or spare parts for our transport systems or power generation. I am sure that as a nation we would use our great ingenuity to overcome our difficulties, but why are we not planning for it now? Why must we accept watery bacon, produced in a country where animal welfare legislation is ignored, when it’s easy to farm pigs here? Because, Tesco can make more profit and it’s advertised on TV. My business is complete by lunchtime and with some difficulty I resist the temptation of a white tablecloth and silver service luncheon, and turn north. My thoughts as well as my bones are assaulted on the terrible ten mile stretch of the A82 between Tarbet and Ardlui. This road, a major gateway to north west Scotland, would be a disgrace in a minor Balkan state. This area comes under the control of The National Park Authority which was to streamline, manage and protect the infrastructure. Is this the “New Britain”, a handful of sub-contractors with shovels in white vans, on top of a pyramid of thousands of worthless quasi civil servants in Authorities, Agencies, Quangos. They interfere in everything but their own salaries and pensions, on which 99% of the project budget is spent, whilst the road surface is a spring and axle breaker, covered in floodwater and surrounded by disgusting piles of litter. Welcome to Bonnie Scotland. I toast the health of President Blair in an early and much needed Ardbeg. Yours Aye, Archie, The Baron Trollaigh.
Wednesday, January 19, 2005
A Day Away
01/19/2005
Moving about the Tower of Glen Trollaigh before light, as I have been invited out for lunch and must meet with the Kerrs in the car park of the new half million pound surgery in Dalmally by 8.30. The morning weather is not too bad, still plenty of snow, dry, dull and still, with a temp of about 4 degrees. However we face dire warnings from Heather the Weather about conditions approaching us from the Atlantic. I manage a quick jog round the policies with the pack before setting off, fortified by a plate of Mhairi’s unbeatable porridge. Driven by the Kerrs we sweep into Oban where they have several appointments, but we are to meet at the Eeusk for lunch. I must say that Oban is looking it’s worst as I collect a few items of ironmongery and groceries. Normally one cannot park in George Street, to-day its empty, although the glowing figure of a traffic warden in high reflective jacket may have something to do with it, what short-sighted tossers the council are to try and balance their deficit with parking charge income, when it’s as plain as the nose on one’s face that free parking would encourage many more visitors. One must have an incentive to stop in Oban. Every second shop is shut, then it starts to rain. Horror of horrors the Eeusk is shut, swept away on a sea of insurance claims following last week’s storm. However they are to re-open soon, thank God. It’s tricky to find any Eatery in January and we end up at the Tex-Mex on the South Pier. Full marks for trying, but not quite what I was hoping for. We are a large party of friends and family, but much of the conversation is centred on medications and spectacle styles and prescriptions. I prefer a more boisterous atmosphere! Home in poor weather, heavy rain and 90 mph gusts from the west. Lovely to receive a message from Major Hayward asking about some of my family. The major refers to the
Prussian family branch, I should stress a cadet branch,
the Saxburgh-Trollaighs. They dropped the Saxburgh after being mercilessly ragged for three generations at Eton (rather than the Eaton referred to by the Major) as “Supermarket Trolleys”. My own alma mater was Trinity College, Glenalmond. In those days, devoid of central heating and long trousers, but rich in bullying and beating. I would recommend this college to any family as it made me the man I am to-day. The very memory makes me reach for the Ardbeg. Yours Aye, Archie, The Baron Trollaigh.