Patent Leather High-Heeled Sea Boots

05/23/2005

The traditions of Saturday dinner must be observed at any country weekend and I take much comfort in the fact that I, as the host, can get away with almost anything. We assemble in the Long Gallery at seven, well scrubbed, I only require a Beaver Busby to look like a full Colonel in the Crimea. The other gentlemen are in white tie apart from Madam/Admiral Daiseybank who wears a naval uniform that is definitely OTT and set off by patent leather high-heeled sea boots. Only dearest Dottie manages the correct form of evening dress amongst the ladies, the other four range from the sublime (Celeste) to the ridiculous (The Countess). Lachie has full license to make free with the Hendricks and Tonic, making sure that all glass are well charged. At eight we attack Mhairi’s world famous Beef Fillet, the whole meal has been entirely prepared from local produce and Mhairi excels herself. Earlier in the day, I got Lachie to dust down twelve bottles of the 1988 Chateau Musar. This is a risky choice as this Lebanese rocket fuel of a red can have some unexpected consequences; I see a look of mild horror pass over Dottie’s darling physog when Lachie starts to pour with a flourish, whilst passing a note to the Admiral to extinguish all naked flames. Despite The Countess, Loti Hoch and Celeste sticking to white wine spritzers, Lachie has to look for another six bottles of the Musar before ten thirty. All seems to be going swimmingly as I manage to steer the chat away from politics and religion and stick to sports, rural pursuits and animal husbandry. The noise level rises and, as one or two of the contributions take on a bluish tinge, Dottie calls the ladies to retire to the drawing room. There is a slight hiatus when the “Admiral”, despite Celeste entreaties, seems to want to stay with the men folk. James, The Countess’s cadaver, his colour changed from grey to scarlet starts to rise from his seat with a muttered “Damn Filly”, Lachie, may the saints preserve him, pulls James back from the well practiced and doubtless extremely accurate scything swing of the pointed patent sea boot aimed at James’s tackle. To be continued. Yours Aye, Archie, The Baron Trollaig.

Archie’s Hols.

Day six. Lochmaddy to Glen Trollaigh. In the Lochmaddy Hotel, our alarm pings at 6.00 am and we pack our many bags for the last time on this holiday. We have the motor in the ferry queue by 6.45, but breakfast-less as the Hotel does not “do” breakfast for guests leaving on the early boat. The Minch is calm and the visibility fair for our voyage to Uig, Skye. We spend the rest of the day on Skye, wondering about the differences on each side of the Minch, and visiting several of the sights, including calling on John Macleod, the 29th chief, at Dunvegan. Unfortunately, he is not at the castle and dearest Dottie and I have to wait our turn with a number of cigarette smoking foreigners (all claiming either student or OAP concessions. Not slow on the uptake, your Johnnie Foreigner) to part with £9 to see round his gardens. Hats off to John, he has done a great job here with virtually no help from the public purse, although the number of grandmother trees lost in January must have devastated him. I do not remember the castle looking quite so scruffy. Our Skye tour culminates by rolling over the Skye Bridge, free of charge thanks to the Scottish Executive, at about 4.00, and make our way back to the welcome sight of Glen Trollaigh. We have both found this trip to be fascinating. The Western Isles are a different world from our own. Such a hard and unforgiving landscape, touched with dazzling beauty. The culture so different, yet we received nothing but kindness and generosity, although we did pay rather well for the privilege! I have been searching for a way of summing up our feelings, I suppose it is that there is a lack of greed on the islands, this is not to say that the islanders are not ambitious, rather that they work for what they and their communities need, not for them the tacky trappings of the soap opera. “Strength in Community, Culture and religion.” Yours Aye, Archie