Heat Wave.

07/05/2006

A few messages have reached me about my claim that Great Britain is one race. One gloating Trotskyite MSP claiming to my face that, “I should put more water in it” when I know that my scribbles will be read by a good cross section of society. I stand by my claim that we are all one race, we are British Citizens; fair enough, there may be a few different skin tones and creeds, however we all carry the same red passport, and abide by the same legal system and accept the Monarchy. Where we differ is in Nationhood, for it is easy to claim that Scotland, England et all are different Nations. This argument, as old as time, is a little wasted as it now appears that the sundry attacks on the English football support in Scotland have all been engineered directly by the media, or by those who never miss an opportunity to hitch their wagon to any media coverage. My own straw poll of shoppers in the Oban Tesco (discounting the many hoorays’ loading up with expensive treats, en route to their island retreats) clearly shows that whilst most jocks were secretly pleased to see the English team of millionaires knocked out of the World Cup. The self same jocks would have gladly stood to attention and sung “God Save The Queen” if the English team had knocked out all the foreign Johnnies and brought back the cup.

Here in glorious Glen Trollaigh, the temperature rises to 27 degrees and the khaki shorts stay firmly in place despite the attentions of clegs that die in the pursuit of some of the Baron’s blue tinged blood. The old Tower of Glen Trollaigh fairly creaks as the temperature rises, but what a glorious summer interlude, dawn breaks at 4.00am and blue skies stay with us until 11.00pm. We engineer a cooling breeze through the Tower by utilising the system of doors and windows designed by the 16th Baron, which beats any air conditioning system by almost a century. The meadows around the Tower of Glentrollaigh are waist high with good mixed flowers, herbs, grasses, and our stocks doze whilst stags and hinds grow brazen in their approach close to the garden. Although the deer must one day be controlled and culled, I cannot help but creep up to the roof and watch them in the parks, the stag’s antlers magnificent, and the hinds hiding their calves in the long grass. Only the fishermen wring their hands as the River Trollaigh sinks to a trickle, however, I feel sure that a few days may see a great change and hopefully our lines and knots may be tested once more, err long. Yours Aye, Archie, The Baron Trollaigh.