Hymn 133
07/10/2006
After seven days of khaki short’s weather a bit of a change blows through, fresher 17 degrees, blustery southerlies and a few heavy showers. The tweed breeks are back on and the baronial Borsalino is crammed firmly on the burned bonce to keep the rain away from the bi-focals. A change is as good as a rest and although the knees are burnt and the physog well bitten, my reaction to the rain is to glance towards at the rod cases as the Alt Trollaigh rises, and wonder whether or not an early cast in the hidden pools might be worth a gamble.
Sunday saw the end of Wimbledon and I have to admit that I enjoyed watching both the Men’s and the Women’s finals on TV, although Nadale’s grunting still puts me off. I caught a glimpse of dearest Dottie sitting behind “the rev” Margaret Cook in the VIP box, our girls had apparently flogged their tickets and were boating on the Thames. The sight of Margaret reminded me of the day that she watched our girls playing on a friend’s court in Richmond and pronounced that our pair were “not the shape for serious tennis”, the barb struck with our lot, however I am pleased to say that the sneer has now stuck permanently to Margaret’s lopsided coupon.
Sunday morning saw church parade at Bridge of Orchy and I can only say that things have gone from bad to worse in the vacancy caused by John Sheddon’s skipping off to the Spanish sunshine. A most genuine chap kindly led the congregation of twelve in an enthusiastic fifty-five minute service, twice the effort we are used to, including five hymns. The low point must have been the choice of hymn number 133 by Frank von Someone, none of us knew it, and so droned and whispered out of any tune for a few buttock clenching moments and then ground to a halt. Thank God for the Lord’s Prayer.
I am off to Oxford for the rest of the week to meet up with dearest Dottie for a few days of culture before carrying my beloved north to Glen Trollaigh and the Great Bed of Trollaigh. And a tentative start to our sporting season with accompanying guests, some hopefully “paying” rather than “chance”, let us see if we can swell the coffers over the next couple of months. Yours Aye, Archie, The Baron Trollaigh. PS. Mobile number remains 07917 818 950, although the hounds have swallowed at least two phones since dearest Dottie left for Henley.