Raggity Arsed

05/19/2005

Blustery, grey, cold weather greets us at 6.00am, then heavy rain sweeps in from the South. The forecast is bang on the money. Despite the rain the burns and rivers do not rise much, but it good to let the policies have some water. As the forecast is not too bad for the afternoon, I agree to a boat maintenance trip with John from Arichastlich. Before I leave, I must turn the thumbscrews on Lachie about the weekend’s police complaint. After a little persuasion it seems that the “elderly camper” was none other than “Bernie, the Bandleader” a notorious and tireless campaigner for ramblers and the bane of many an Argyll farmer. Much of the stuffing has been knocked out of Bernie with the enactment of the land reform act, however, Bernie had heard that we still keep a gate closed on the avenue that leads to our private garden, as such a private area is specifically allowed under the new act. Bernie, undaunted by legal prerogative arrived on Saturday, opened the gate and drove her pink Smart car up to the Tower of Glen Trollaigh and parked outside the sitting room windows. Mhairi summoned Lachie, who having asked Bernie to move her car out of the private garden was then taken to task as a servant of the landed gentry was finally referred to as a “raggity arsed serf”. Lachie responded by dropping his trousers to prove that he was not raggity arsed! Bernie rushed off to place a formal complaint before the police, who so far seem to have taken it all in good humour. Yours Aye, Archie, The Baron Trollaigh,

Archie’s Hols.

Day Three, Timsgarry to Ard Asaig. A glorious if chilly morning wakes us at Traigh Uig, I am almost tempted into a pair of shorts but resist. Another full breakfast with Richard’s speciality porridge and clear views of the Flannan Islands We pay the surprisingly modest bill, which Richard explains is all they need to survive, so who cares about tatty bedrooms it is not a priority. Then pack the motor, but leave it at Baile-na-cille to spend the next five hours tramping over the sands, crossing rivers, rounding headlands to have a picnic lunch at one of the secret beaches on Carnish. We then retrieve the motor and journey through the wild mountain landscape of North Harris, travelling on a little way to South Harris and a preview of Luskentyre Beach. Suitably bedazzled we return to Ardhsaig House and the hospitality of Katie Macaskill. A great deal of money has been spent here, and it is wonderful, apart from the décor, which is absolutely ghastly, over dollied Harrogate B&B of positively the worst order, things are not helped by our view of ten croft houses from perfect restoration to completely ruined and a rusty fish farm. The bizarre fake Victorian sanitary ware is terrifying and the sloping cistern lid claimed an untasted glass of Chardonnay. However, close your eyes and Katie’s place and cooking are superb and we enjoyed an excellent night, with a late walk in a light shower. Yours aye, Archie.