Highlanders And Amazons.

06/21/2006

Changeable, stormy weather heralds the middle of the month, this is really the start of our rainy season that can last for a few months and always includes such standards as water sodden Wimbledon Fortnight with assorted RHS Flower Shows rained off. However, we Brits always hope for dry weather when we need it, just as we still think that we may have a snowball’s chance in hell of winning the footie World Cup, yes I know it is “still mathematically” possible. Midsummer’s day brings a bit of surprise with a full force 9 gale and torrential rain for 24 hours, creatures great and small scatter for shelter as the River Trollaigh becomes a raging brown torrent and there are renewed calls for the heating in the Tower of Glen Trollaigh to be started up yet again. I earnestly believe that an extra external layer of wool and an internal stiffener of The Young Ardbeg are all that are required to overcome the slings and arrows of the Scottish weather in any season.

I have enjoyed a wonderful combination of experiences over the past few days. When, at last, after a break of some months I have been able to take a most enjoyable trudge over the long glen in wild conditions, and look down into Glen Orchy from on high, with mighty Ben Lui still dominating despite his shroud of thick swirling cloud. One definitely has a feeling of walking in the footsteps of some majestic, if slightly damp Highlander in these desolate spots. By contrast, I have spent some time trying to extricate myself and hounds from the stairwells of the Buchanan Galleries carpark having discovered that the lifts were kaput. I fear that I have no knowledge of engineering, or indeed, of the bally designer of the said carpark, however, you may believe me when I say that the stairwells are a nightmare of misinformation and at least forty-five minutes passed between locking the motor and settling into Sarti’s with a dry white. All this nonsense seems to spill over into my dreams where a goal is in sight and there is endless time in which to achieve it. However, goo and haze seem to hold one back, and more recently it was a question of defeating the obstacles by shouting useful abuse at the ranks of amazon enemy; “false finger nails” floored them, whilst one’s allies turn into sleeping blocks of shiny chocolate coloured steel. Nature conquers the old in all these pleasant drifting dreams as the overpowering message is, “get up and go to the lavatory”.

A visit from the Glen Orchy Kerr’s brings a hughmungus game of ring-a-ring of roses with Mhairi Katharine, who also rides the 17th Baron’s rocking horse whilst drinking water from the last remaining 16th century sherry crystal glass. The fires and heaters of Arichastlich roar to keep guests comfortable as unused showers splutter back into live. However, who would have it any other way. Yours aye, Archie, The Baron Trollaigh.