Little Red Corsa

12/30/2006

Heavy rain and gales become rather hard to bear after a few days of pleasant winter weather. The people of the North Argyll glens watch the river levels nervously, moving livestock to higher ground, checking their maintenance lists for repairs that have not been completed following the mid December floods. For these weak points may now cause further problems if the forecast for extreme weather becomes a chilly, wet reality. The Tower of Glen Trollaigh is no exception, with fallen trees still to clear, fences to raise and the water supply still to redesign. Certainly last night’s Atlantic blasts complete with midnight lightening had dearest Dottie out of bed to unplug our telephones (a quaint, though necessary rural custom), dogs howling and your truly mentally holding down the slates and roof ridging from the relative safety of the Great Bed of Trollaigh.

The reason why so many tasks remain incomplete has been the tradition of increasing indolence between Christmas and New Year. I feel sorry for those armies of retail workers who man the tills in John Lewis and Tesco whilst the rest of the world party on, be it a Brigadier or a Biologist, a Tradesman or a Triage Nurse, every telephone rings out. One has been unable to source parts for chainsaws, plumbing or material for fencing so that repairs have fallen frustratingly behind schedule. As the head of the Trollaighs, my duties have been light, the Boxing Day hunt, the odd morning’s rough shoot and of course, a finger or two in the Winter Gathering in Oban. Things did need a wee bit of a push to set the pace for the Gathering, as the Oban matrons always seem a little coy. However, the young, as always set an enthusiastic example, even hauling the backpackers from across Breadalbane Street in amongst the silk gowns and highland regalia. I was embarrassed at our Girls’ “Black Bottomed Betty” routine during Strip the Willow; however, The Chieftain gamely joined in, stamping and whooping. He may not have been so understanding in the morning when he discovered his wife’s red Vauxhall Corsa on the wrong side of the bollards protecting the Farm Foods trolley park, manhandled into place by some Glenalmond refugees. Tanya’s Taxis worked manfully to see us all back to The Tower of Glen Trollaigh, where the 29th December indoor cricket match continued to dawn, well, save for the party of oldies who retired to bed in good order. What fun! Yours aye, Archie, The Baron Trollaigh.