Girls will be girls
01/29/2005
I almost think that Heather the Weather has been mistaken as I draw back the curtains on a frosty morning with thick, thick mist. However, it looks as if it should burn back. I bring dearest Dotty the traditional Saturday cup of tea in The Great Bed of Trollaigh, and a brief but pleasant murmur reaches me from beneath the duvet. I am outside as soon as possible, because today I can ignore the telephone, only checking in at coffee time, then no responsibilities until Monday. I challenge Lachie to a log-chopping contest and despite a certain smirk, he lets me win. At coffee, whilst mopping the Baronial brow, I phone round the glens, finding the Kerrs hard at it in the garden, expecting the sun to break through at 11.30, which is spot on for Glen Trollaigh too. They have several family visitors this weekend and are very excited about their daughter-in-law and granddaughter arriving from America next week. It must be wonderful to have such a close and happy family. I regret that Dotty and I only produced two girls. As they are complete “no hopers” who dissipate what little is left of the Trollaigh fortunes in Upper Street, Islington, I have decided to be the last Baron, although technically I can pass on to a Baroness I am not of a mind so to do. The girls do produce a team of young men who distract the ghillies and stalkers in August and September, but they are chinless to a man. As we are related to most of the families of Europe and our family tree must divide, I am at my wits end, perhaps e-bay? It is significant, although unnecessarily rude, that my eldest, named after that matriarch of another ship owning family, should be referred to in Lady Camperdown’s salacious diary as “The Falls of Laura”. Nevertheless, to-day has been a fine one, and thoughts of my wasting assets do not dishearten me, as I walk back to the Tower in the gathering dusk, smelling the smoke from the fires half a mile away in the clear air. Contentment will be Arbeg shaped. Yours Aye, Archie, The Baron Trollaigh.
