Baths and Anticipation

01/10/2005

A 7.00am illicit bath in Dotty’s recently restyled boudoir bathroom. I am officially barred from this most excellent warm facility as I subornly refuse to upgrade the freezing Edwardian splendor of my bachelor loo on the North stair, which has been the refuge of several Baron Trollaighs. I plan an early trip to Dalmally Post Office and head down the Glen after Mhairi has persuaded me, without difficulty, to take a bowl of porridge in the kitchen. Even after seventy odd years I get a feeling of great anticipation as I drive out of Glen Trollaigh, I cannot explain it as the outside world seldom lives up to expectations. Maybe it is just the old dog let off the leash! After Dalmally I set off up Glen Orchy to see the river, it is magnificent at this surging force, several long stretches of the road must have been under three or four feet of water last Thursday night.A piece of plastic rubbish hangs from Jimmy Tannoch’s bridge, a good indicator of the height of water, surely at least six or seven feet above normal spates. I call on the Battling Kerrs at Arichastlich for the usual excellent coffee and biscuits, which as usual runs into a lunch invitation. They have coped with the weather and as usual with Erica, a number of sodden wild animals have moved into the outbuildings. John is “formulating” as he often does at this time of year. To-days mantra is “no sulfates”. Apparently I have been unknowingly neglecting the moisture content of my Seben since the war and this must now stop. This is a bit rich, as despite almost thirty years of seniority I have considerably more hair than John. However, even better news is that they have asked me to help direct a new series of commercial videos promoting Diana Drummond, for use at their exhibitions. This is doublely welcome as it will mean sea-time, havesting carrageen and other seaweeds. The Kerrs are wonderful rock hoppers and will gladly take one to corners that even God does not know about. I regret that I resigned from the Royal Yacht Squadron some fifty years ago, following a disputed call at a weather mark at Cowes Week when young Agnus Jellicoe referred to me as “That Glasgow Cabbie”. It still smarts, but then as now the Squadron Protest Committe came to their judgements, not on the racing rules, but on social status. I was a mere 40,000 acre Scottish Baron and had no hope against the son of a belted Earl. I had to give up my three digit sail number, too much to bear, I seldom sailed again. I might add that I have since had the honour of driving past Jellicoe on a bad night at Ledmore Junction, Sutherland, it was difficult to pretend to ignore him, as not only was his motor smoldering, but his coat appeared to be on fire, and I am certain he recognised me.Back in the study I nurse a second Ardbeg while concentrating on Heather the Weather the outlook is bad. Dearest Dotty is stridently questioning a “ring” in her bath. I turn up the TV. A good day, Yours Aye, Archie, The Baron Trollaigh.