Dark Thoughts And Windy Gordon

09/24/2006

Nonagenarians seem to be the theme as I ponder my scribbles after a beautiful autumn day, all be it as a passing shower blasts the castellations. Why ninety year olds I hear you ask, well apart from feeling that age myself having shifted a few tons of top-soil for dearest Dottie, then a few tons of stone for The Best Dry Stone Dyker in Argyll, followed by another few tons of woodchip for dearest D. It seems, according to the media, that those in their nineties have been behaving appallingly over the last couple of days. Our Community Policeman was summoned to the Dalmally Hotel in the early hours by the management after a ninety year old bird, medication abandoned in favour of several large brandies, was running naked the length of the corridors. Sensibly realising that his shift was almost over, our trustworthy PC retreated to the ample arms of his beloved, leaving the eastern european hotel staff to subdue the Barnsley Banshee with drams and brooms handles. The following morning, her modesty covered by a Highland Heritage travel blanket, the Oban SWAT team removed grannie, whilst she complained mightily of police brutality and pressed her claim for a refund of her hotel bill, which the management had wisely taken in advance. Such behaviour has not been restricted to the fairer sex, as allegedly, vice squad officers apprehended a ninety five year old gent during a swoop on curb crawlers in Inverness. The great granddad from Dingwall was negotiating a rate with a lady of the Inverness night, as plod raced to arrest him with nightsticks extended. I am greatly heartened by this story, as it seems there may be hope for the old Trollaigh yet, although perhaps it may be wise to avoid the Bridge Street area of Inverness. Perhaps lying about one’s age may also deflect the media spot light.

The tail end of Hurricane Gordon has dominated our week’s weather, with strong winds and at one point, 24 hours of heavy rain. However, it has stayed unusually mild with nighttime 15 degrees being common and 20 degrees in the odd sunny spell, almost 10 degrees above the seasonal average. The River Trollaigh rose to a great spate and fool hardly canoeists flew passed a few brave fishermen trying their luck in the brown torrent; I even spotted a campsite or two, although no one seemed to stay for much more than a day. The damp days drove me to the pub for the weekly quiz night for light diversion, I am normally welcomed to a team there because of my extensive knowledge of the history of right wing politics and popular music. The quiz always finishes with a written question, this week’s being “name twenty thing to be found in a Post Office”. One reply which eschewed the traditional; “a pencil, an envelope, a vehicle tax application form, a TV licence payment form etc” read; “four Muslims, three single mothers, two pushchairs, three pensioners, four walking sticks, two immigrant Polish workers, one tramp and one fully employed white church goer waiting twenty five minutes to post a letter”. I wonder whose entry that was. It failed to raise a laugh from our po-faced quiz mistress, although three local stalwarts stood me sporting drams. This answer seems to sum up our mood at present, has the summer gone on too long? With the equinox behind us, perhaps we subconsciously welcome the cold dark winter ahead where we might hide from the horrible reality of the world around us. Yours aye, Archie, The Baron Trollaigh.