Handy Hoch Mit Lederhosen

05/21/2005

An improvement on yesterday, a dull start that clears for most of the morning, sudden heavy rain and even hail at lunchtime clears again to a glorious evening with sun and the most enormous white clouds towering tens of thousands of feet, some with dark grey bases. Full Trollaigh regalia last night to greet our guests, firstly a German couple, Hans and Loti Hoch ("just call me Handy”, unexpected sense of humour, for you historians.) in lederhosen, presumably misunderstanding the etiquette of “Traditional Dress” which I feel sure does not extend to short trousers, leather or otherwise. Secondly, the Countess Mayfield and her cadaver of a husband, James, next, Charlie and Cynthia McAllister sporting friends of my QC David, and finally Celeste Rue, some list Z celeb friend of the girls in London, with her lesbian lover, whom I thought was introduced as Arthur, Admiral Daiseybank although she seemed definitely female, despite the uniform. God knows who holds on to whose ears in that lot but I fear for the state of their East Turret apartment by Monday. I manage to escape most chit chat by directing Lachie and Mhairi, immaculately turned out as butler and maid, for one of Mhairi’s Herculean efforts over a superb dinner, I had only to make a few senseless muttered grumbles and grin inanely, whilst availing myself for most of the drink! Today was an equally simple subterfuge as I hid in the bushes with a glass and cigar, while Lachie ghillied for James, “Arthur”, Hans and Charlie on the river. The girls all bonded together making marmalade with Mhairi, cooing over some of the more alarming antique kitchen utensils still in daily use here at the Tower of Glen Trollaigh. I fear that I will be called upon to perform better tonight, judging from a terse note left by dearest Dottie in my dressing room where the Great Kilt of Trollaigh and the Blanco-ed spats have been laid out. I must have a word with Lachie about a constant supply of young Ardbeg. Yours Aye, Archie, The Baron Trollaigh.

Archie’s Hols.

Day four, Scarista to Lochmaddy. Despite our apprehension, Scarista and the Martins come up trumps, a comfortable country house style hotel, lots of hot water and comfort. Our only surprise is the appearance of “Father Tom” a Dominican Friar when we gather for pre-prandial G&Ts. Our dinner is outstanding, our bed most comfortable, with a background of rising wind and surf. We are greeted by a grey stormy morning, views of St Kilda, smoked salmon and scrambled egg for breakfast. Dottie manages a few words of Gaelic with George the Maitre D as we settle the biggest bill of the trip. After a short breezy walk, we take the ferry to North Uist. An absolutely fascinating crossing of the Sound of Harris, amongst shoals, rocks and reefs, a whole chapter in itself. After a picnic lunch and windy walk on Berneray, We spend the day wandering around North Uist and Grimsay, here again we find new wonders, the development of Kallin Harbour, the wildness of Loch Eport and the sensible development of Taigh Chearsabhagh, with the wonderful darts match for territorial control. So much money, so well spent, an absolute joy. We also appreciate the extent of the damage suffered during the January gale, when life was lost, houses and communities threatened, causeways built to last reduced to pebbles in hours, it must have been very scary, to say the least. We retire to the Lochmaddy Hotel, a basic commercial/fishing pub, but clean with bar food by Brakes, well cooked. To bed early, to rest before the first ferry to Skye tomorrow. Doctor John MacLeod kindly phones offering to entertain us, but we are already tucked up in bed, a great pity to miss him, so kind of him to make the effort. Yours Aye, Archie.