Six Good Men nd True

04/04/2006

As I thought my week has rushed by, add the effect of the time change and I am jet-lagged. Various folk have been complaining of all sorts of ailments, most tracing back to contact with hospitals, or at the very least medical centres, and I think I have contracted most of them. I learn from the television that all can be remedied with good bacteria, however I will trust in the medicinal effects of The Young Ardbeg, in double measure.

Spring seems to have been delayed once more with an extra dose of chilly easterly breezes and a dusting of snow, hard night frosts, but some lovely sunny spells during the day with a glimpse of what might be with us in the next few weeks. It is wonderful to be back in Glen Trollaigh after the frantic travelling of the past ten days, Lachie and I plan the execution of our most pressing tasks including the installation of a new fuel tank and the construction of the ubiquitous “deck” which is to be part of the Great Garden Plan. Dearest Dottie has been calling for a man to be brought in to construct the deck, however, if Alan Tichmarsh can do it, all be it assisted by some bra-less amazon, then surely Lachie and I will master it at a fraction of the cost.

With great sadness, I attended the funeral of yet another dear old friend. This was a rather lovely traditional rural burial and I must admit that I much prefer this to the antiseptic high-speed cremation. We all gathered in the peaceful kirk overlooking the green, enjoyed a charming service and progressed to the graveside, followed by tea, buns and a couple of drams in the village hall, so civilised and peaceful. The hallmark of chaos at interments is the often bizarre selection of the six pallbearers, an honour bestowed on close friends of the deceased by the family. These stalwarts are often drawn to represent various interests of the dear departed, relatives, golfers, sailors, farmers or doctors and so on. Despite careful planning this always produces six good men and true ranging in age from eighteen to eighty and in height from five foot to six foot five. Last week’s event was no exception and there was many a giggle from the congregation to lighten the atmosphere as the six struggled to heave the seven foot coffin and its sturdy incumbent from the kirk in a dignified manner, a particular obstacle in this case was the narrowness of the awkward doorways. One ancient was left hanging by his collar on a lobby coat hook while his opposite number, recently home from a triple bypass, had to pull out leaving the remaining muttering mismatched four to accelerate down the slippery outside steps. However, all was well and the deceased arrived at his resting place only a few minutes behind the rest of the party. Apart from the obvious sorrow, a lovely day. Yours Aye, Archie, The Baron Trollaigh.