Pole Dancers of Tobermory

04/16/2006

One can only describe the weather as miserable, a constant soaking drizzle with low grey cloud and, for mid April, it is too cold, still struggling to reach double figures. Much of the snow has been stripped below 2500 feet and when occasionally I get a decent view as a good gust of westerly wind blows through, I can watch the squalls rush in a wintery fashion up towards the northern head wall of Glen Trollaigh. Lambing is now upon us with a vengeance. Lachie and the entire household are on patrol, on the lookout for difficult deliveries and all the suicidal antics that otherwise only vaguely mad ewes get up to at this time of year. The kitchen floor is scattered with cardboard boxes each containing lambs both temporarily or permanently orphaned and that require regular bottle-feeding. I well remember an old grieve of my father’s comment that all orphaned lambs invariably “die in debt”, how right he was.

Amongst the usual rubbish that Postie delivers today is the news that I have been expecting, the withdrawal of my “K”, on the grounds that I unwisely donated £20 to my community council to support their campaign to add an extra room to the surgery to enable confidential consultations amongst the black, one-legged, lesbian single mums of the parish. My wonderful list MSP Jamie McGrigor warned me that President Blair had issued a dictat that all honours offered north and east of N1 were to be cancelled, but I must say that I am bitter. Dearest Dottie doubly so as together with her legitimate “Rt Hon”, she could have become Lady Dottie, rather than “Baroness Trollaigh” which she has always found a little too Scottish. For my part, it is just a terrible shame that my celebratory bash planned for the member’s terrace at Westminster has to be cancelled. This splendid facility paid for by the taxpayer and that can be hired for a modest sum, still sells reasonable bubbles for under twenty quid a bottle, however it is most terribly underused, perhaps on another occasion.

Lachie and I have been spending our spare time renovating an old garden bench sent over from Arichastlich. This is the famous “Earl’s Bench” which used to support the not inconsiderable bulk of the Earl of Breadalbane when he fished the Orchy. It has been a great challenge taking it to bits and returning the bench to its former glory. We have even managed to repair the damage caused when George Houston hurled the bench at his friend Neil Munro in either 1912 or 13, an incident retold in Para Handy’s “Pole Dancers and Green Tea in Tobermory”, penned by Neil Munro in 1920. I am considering having an inscription added detailing some of the bench’s fascinating history.

Church parade will be in Dalmally this Easter Sunday, the only other option being Crianlarich, and that is not really on, for in the absence of our dear Rev John Sheddon services in Stathfillan veer between numbingly boring and down right dangerous. Dalmally will also have the attraction of dear old Mrs Shuster bringing her dogs to the church. This darling ancient chatelaine will be inspecting her Glenstrae outliers having travelled from the usual Gloustershire megafarm. The Catholics have some very strange ideas about animals and religion, however, in Argyll the rest of the congregation find dogs in church odd, as, to a man they would never loosen a brute from the back of their pick up’s other than to gather sheep or bite tourists. Yours aye, Archie, The Baron Trollaigh.