Autumnal Advice.
10/04/2007
I blame the 1940’s design of our trusty motor, or more particularly its small but solid seats for a sharp attack of cramp whilst driving into Oban for the messages. The old quack, now replaced by a highly efficient popsie, assures me over a midday stiffener in the Golf Club that my pain has nothing to do with the car seats, but rather to excessive consumption of red wine, and advises a limit of two large daily glasses, six days per week, presumably one can top up with a bottle or five of white, so I intend to follow the medico’s advice to the letter. Nevertheless my thoughts turn to replacing the old auto just in case medical opinion is squew wiff. Enthusiasm for my patronage seems to vary from garage to garage, however salesmen’s attitude to potential customers is on the surly side and all the talk is of the cost of co2 emissions, this of course is balls and yet another stealth tax, as any idiot knows that 99% of particulates belching from cars are due to batty pensioners over revving and slipping their collective clutches whilst inching into and out of the disabled slots at Tesco.
The mention of pensioners forces me to recount a tricky tale which has caused me to keep a low profile over the past few days. Good, clear weather brought a hard frost overnight when, as part of The Tower of Glen Trollaigh clothes moth eradication programme the drawing room furniture was carried out to the terrace for a bit of moth egg deep freeze treatment. Regrettably yours truly omitted to spot that ancient Auntie Minto was occupying the Great Sofa of Trollaigh at that precise moment. Armed only with a glass of Port and Lemon, two layers of silk (one sincerely hopes) and a mouldy fur wrap Auntie M showed true grit by surviving a chilly night on the terrace, although I did wonder what was rattling the French Windows and stirring up the hounds at 3.00am. Naturally the fickle finger of fate points at me in the blame department and one must assume that Auntie’s fabled diamonds will no longer be heading for the Tower of Glen Trollaigh.
Glen Trollaigh is looking splendid as the autumn colours start to show, eagles soar against the red hills, leaves fall, owls hoot, bats whiz and shaggy stags roar in the rut. We nip into Oban tonight to sample the Seafood Temple; this converted public convenience with a bay view has eluded me all summer, the one previous occasion we were granted the honour of a table we did not get past the door as they had “double booked” and we were turfed out. Having accepted our booking this time, they phoned back to demand a £10 deposit per cover as they are “having trouble with our bookings” hardly surprising as they never answer the bally phone. This eatery will really have to impress before it gets any more of my dosh. Yours aye, Archie, The Baron Trollaigh.
It seems to me Baron , that your medical advice may be slightly suspect. Out of pure self interest , I would hope that you would throttle back on the wine consumption - at least until Sunday.
I hope you are going to replace your Land Rover with something a bit more suitable for a much valued customer of the private banking (rip off) sector. I know you had talked about a Jag before you were 60 - tempus fugit old chap.