Missing Words

01/09/2007

3.00am sharp I awake with a start, a full gale howls from the South West, rain and hail crash against the castellations. Dearest Dottie murmurs in protest at the wild weather, as I find it difficult to return to the land of nod, of course it is all because; after a couple of centuries, dearest D has decided to remodel the bedroom and the Great Bed of Trollaigh has been realigned thro ninety degrees. The slumbering Baronial body has been forced across the earth’s magnetic field and is now out of step with the weather and background noise. However, we now apparently enjoy a “better view”, what rubbish; bedrooms are for functional use only and I sincerely hope that I will spend about half of my life in a bedroom somewhere, either “toes down” or “teeth up”, as we used to say on the Yangsee Patrol.

If truth were told, our disturbance at the dead of night was not entirely caused by the earth’s magnetic field. I am a strong believer that thinking of others near and dear can have a direct affect on oneself, and our hiatus in the early hours of this morning correspond neatly to the jetlagged wakeful period of the most welcome return of Tristan and Pru to Glen Orchy from New Zealand. Whilst dearest Dottie and I tossed and turned, T&P grazed on cold chicken and read, wide eyed. I hope that the body clocks of the North Argyll Glens will synchronise err long!

I was slightly shocked by a day spent in Oban yesterday. My favourite town was not at its best in the first week of January, with most of my watering holes closed and the town full of European voices, be they Poles or Bulgars. I was certainly more than a little miffed to spot a couple of European registered cars, obviously taking advantage of their intractability, to ignore the Tesco three hour parking limit. However my main problem was, that I realised that I am definitely moving into the “missing word” phase of old age. I was embarrassed to struggle for the trade name “Dimplex” whilst sourcing a replacement element for a failing towel rail, then forgot completely the magic “double spigot” needed to purchase the required tight angle 87.5% drainage bends needed for septic tank maintenance. However, the ultimate disgrace was to arrive at the dentist for my 4.10pm appointment at 4.30pm. An understanding practice nurse then made it clear that despite my private patient status, my tooth torturer could not fit me in for at least six weeks, put me in my pensioner’s place. Bugger old age and stupidness, hurray for a sensiblely stiff Ardbeg when I reached home to a warm doggy welcome. Yours Aye, Archie, The Baron Trollaigh.