First Frost.
08/12/2007
The dogs have been restless through the night; eventually I struggle from the comfort of The Great Bed of Trollaigh to settle them. The problem was that the moon was shining through the boot room window, this in itself would not seem to be reason for canine shuffling, however this is the first clear moonlit night for simply months and in keeping with our unseasonal weather patterns we only avoid a ground frost by a degree or so. The sky is still clear at 7.00 when I hoist up the breeks and release the mutts for their morning constitutional, so that I see the sun edging over MacDonald’s Ridge to bath The Tower of Glen Trollaigh with warming light, again the first time I have seen this during the whole summer, and thank God for the sunshine as dearest Dottie has been hinting about the need to turn on heating to save the shivers of some of the old relics who are currently rattling around the corridors, occupying the library chairs and rumbling away behind their Daily Telegraph. For this is the fortnight that we entertain as many Trollaigh cousins as we can muster before it is all hands to the pumps to prime the bank balance with paying guests after the 12th, which the observant amongst you will have spotted falls on a Sunday this year giving the PGs an extra day to polish up their matched pairs.
As well as seeing the Moon, Stars and Sun, I have also seen the 4.30 dawn this week, all be it whilst groping around in the mud of some isolated island harbour trying to unfangle a thick rope from the propeller of Diana Drummond’s motor boat. This poorly planned passage was my responsibility and included very stormy seas, poor visibility, a blocked sea toilet; several temper tantrums, wheelhouse lockers awash and a very good birthday party, after which the skipper had to be helped into the dinghy and his vessel was unsportingly attacked by the mooring rope.
As the rain returns I have been making a great effort to catch up with correspondence, form filling and fending of officialdom as best I can. A new box has appeared on many an important return, after the routine name and address namely; “Usual Salutation”, one wonders how many write “Hey u Jimmy” or somesuch, I certainly admit to scribbling “My Darling” in frustration at a fifteen page tome urgently required by yet another new interfering Quango. It all reminds me of one cove trying to deny responsibility for some minor yachtie collision who wrote “Act of God” whilst countersigning the aggrieved party’s insurance claim and promptly received by return a communication from the insurers addressed “Dear Mr God”. I hear the call of Messieurs Hendricks and Schweppes so must sign off and administer stiffeners to my worthy kinfolk, yours aye, Archie, The Baron Trollaigh.