Baby Blockhead

05/28/2006

I fear that our trend to stormy weather has stuck with us for a most unsettled fortnight, gales from ever quarter, heavy rain, frequent snow on the tops and visits from a couple of frosty nights which have started to cause some damage in the garden. The bad news for any visitors is that temperatures have rarely struggled above 10 degrees, however, Heather the Weather has hinted at a long-range improvement, perhaps towards the end of next week.

As this is a holiday weekend, a few startled campers are riding out the weather in tents that are presumably weighed down with substantial boulders. I spoke to one Father and Son pair who, in the fashion this year, are dressed from head to toe in Gortex Cammo. They almost blamed me for the storms claiming that they camped in the glen last year in calm, spring weather, even swimming in the River Trollaigh, whereas the only swimming they are doing this year is in their sleeping bags, poor devils, but it is hardly my fault. Of course every tent contains a couple of rods, however as the river is so high, one would need the luck of the fiddler’s bitch to hook a Stickle Back, I am turning a blind eye.

Over the last few days, I have reluctantly attended a community meeting which droned on about the provision of, or the lack of, local healthcare. I accept that I may not be able to grasp the economic nettle, but I fail to understand how so much cash is tipped into healthcare, when bugger all appears to come out the other end. One of the hot topics was Baby Square Head Syndrome, which is apparently caused because parents are now far too busy to pick their babies up, and leave them on the floor watching daytime TV. The solution is glaringly obvious, pick the brats up or even better, employ a Nanny to do it for you. But oh no, consultants and experts have been summoned from all the corners of the globe at the cost of mega millions, so that baby blockhead can now be strapped into a tight crash helmet, courtesy of the taxpayer while the bonce returns to the shape nature intended. I was always led to believe that any ailment with “syndrome” in the diagnosis was a pure invention to satisfy to fears of guilty but dotting parents and BSHS appear to fit the bill perfectly, allowing mum and dad to hog chips and swallow vodka whilst their guilt is publicly absolved with a pushchair sporting a form of medieval torture. Perhaps the helmets could be customised with a brand logo or the unfortunate child’s name, the mind boggles! Yours aye, Archie, The Baron Trollaigh.