Old Implements
04/03/2005
The weekend passes and it is calm and pleasant here in Glen Trollaigh, nice and mild at 15 or 16 degrees, easterly winds that back and freshen southerly, some stronger gusts overnight, misty, overcast but dry. At the Tower of Glen Trollaigh, dearest Dottie and I spend most of the weekend outside. One of my tasks has been to clear out one end of the old hay barn to create a new wood stack. This proved fascinating as I peeled back layers of years of work, picking up an old rusty implement or a block of wood and remembering with affection when I last handled the object, and indeed trying to remember in some cases why I had handled it! It is frightening to count up the tasks and jobs undertaken over many years, some successful and many others complete, incompetent failures. All part of life’s gay pageant. Am I still allowed to say that? I hope so. Dottie and I keep in close contact with Arichastlich where all three sons have gathered for their grandmother’s funeral on Monday, of course it is a sad occasion, but the fact that the whole family are supporting Erica is simply wonderful, and we know that she is greatly heartened by it. However, boys will be boys and Erica tells me of magic moments of lavatorial humour and ridiculous nighttime antics, despite the fact that the boys have all become responsible, stalwart citizens. I even hear of the traditional Kerr Sunday forced march, all five cross the Orchy in search of the Wapiti Cage; unfortunately they only have one pair of wellies that do not leak between them, wisely chosen by Peter. The other four return home after an hour or so in the wilderness of the Beautiful Glen, in various levels of wetness, Jono for some reason, soaked to waist. Their guests in The Old House are somewhat taken aback. Lots of comings and going in Glen Orchy, including two lots of press photographers as the Diana Drummond PR clicks in for the Country Living Scottish Spring Fair at Ingliston, Edinburgh, 14th to 17th April, where I will be appearing on the stand. All this talk of crossing cold rivers has me reaching for the Ardbeg in a reflective mood. Cheers! Yours Aye, Archie, The Baron Trollaigh.