House Guests.

07/27/2006

For the first time in about ten days, I sit at the computer whilst nipping indoors to dodge a short, heavy shower. Apart from the very odd wet day, our warm summer weather seems to have stretched for weeks and over the last twenty days, the mercury has seldom dropped below 25 degrees. Yours truly has been suffering from overheating and the Great Bed of Trollaigh has proved particularly uncomfortable, being designed for snugness in much colder conditions. All in all, it has been good to enjoy such fine weather, and dearest Dottie swings from her abseil while the woodwork on the upper floors receives a much-needed coat of paint.

While dearest Dottie strains with the aerial decorating, I have been trying to help in the garden and with haymaking, for which conditions have been ideal. However, I seem to be constantly interrupted by shouts of “telephone” from Mhairi stuck inside the baking Tower of Glen Trollaigh by domestic duties. Many of these calls are from assorted chums, who, encouraged by the good weather, have prised their old crocks from the motor house, and happen to be “just passing”. Although it is good to keep in touch, and as many of them will not see out another winter, it seems churlish to be annoyed by their visits. Never the less, it fairly breaks up the day and chores remain unfinished whilst octogenarians inspect the garden, pace the policies, redonnee the banks of The River Trollaigh, and marvel at the two ten pointers who have brazenly taking up position within shot of the library windows, apparently unaware of the significance of the 12th of August. My friends seem to linger over stiffeners and a couple have stayed on to dinner, only to be encouraged to leave after I have summoned Tanya’s Taxis to ship them off home.

Managed to find an excuse to flee to Oban yesterday, but even there my mobile phone issued a noise like the final moments of an old and faithful Labrador, and informed me that if I signed up for some nuisance, my premium rate bar would be lifted. What the hell is that all about? We managed a super dinner at The Waterfront and met the new owner, who turns out to be a publican who has served me well in the past, and thank god, the chef is staying on. I had rather over ordered on dressed crab, followed by wild salmon fillet with new potatoes, when the kitchen sent over a savoury of two scallops wrapped in bacon, and mien host sent two glasses of bubbles across. Simply divine, if one was only to eat out twice in one’s life it would have to be The Waterfront, Oban and The Creel, St Margaret’s Hope. We struggled out of the Waterfront and made it to The Highland Theatre to watch “Superman Returns”, a real bum number, however dearest Dottie loved it, and a jolly couple of ancient aristocrats drove back to The Tower of Glen Trollaigh by midnight, where it was still 25 degrees! Yours aye, Archie, The Baron Trollaigh.