Snow On The Tops

01/18/2006

Saturday provided “The” super day of the week with Alpine winter conditions that allowed uninterrupted outside work and it was certainly possible for even these old eyes to read out of doors at 5.30. It is a delight to feel just the slightest lengthening of the days, although it is frustrating when one’s gaze wanders to the snowy ridges and tops, would it not be marvellous to be up there rather than grinding through an never ending list of “things to do” at the foot of the glen? Much of the rest of the weather has been pretty mixed, from wet and mild to black and wild, frequently with some spectacular sunsets, partly due to the full moon. I cannot yet see the severe winter that we have been promised, the pundits only have a few more weeks to shake a stick at it, if they are to be proved correct. I have read my Scottish Ski Club Journal and I do hope that the forecasters of doom are on the ball so that I can dig out the planks, sharpen the edges and head for The White Corries, regrettably now leased by some cove that made his first thirty million out of selling dodgy premium line phone numbers. I am told that this rather bulky gent now has a wife and family, so he cannot be all bad, however, he must seriously consider dishing out some free passes to butter up his neighbouring landowners. I served my time learning to ski in the 50’s and 60’s clinging to the blue ice sheets of Glen Coe, although dearest Dottie serenely telemarked her way through the deep powder of Chateaux d’aix in a long tweed skirt at about the same time. As I write, sepia photos of those wonderful days, which hang still on the great library wall, bring a stirring to the old proverbials.

You, my readers will be pleased to learn that despite the poor Baron’s endless toil, his blood pressure has reached boiling point on a few occasions over the season of good will. It does not surprise me that West Dunbartonshire Council employs thousands of people, half of whom do not bother to pay their council tax, or indeed that “two jags” Prescott, that overweight, jumped up Cunard steward, does not see fit to pay his own council tax. However, I cannot quite understand how the multitudes who make up Customs and Excise and The Inland Revenue, can now combine to form a new “super” department of Customs and Revenue, or somesuch, yet still expect yours truly to file returns, self assess and fill in every form known to man, taking hours and hours of time. While there are literally hundreds of thousands of these civil service bastards sitting on their arses in modern offices marking time until they draw their final salary pensions in their fifties. I am now filling in my Disability Benefit forms that several Harley Street medicos will endorse, if they know what’s good for them, and will shortly be in clover, with a free parking pass and two handy aluminium walking sticks. Watch this space! Yours Aye, Archie, The Baron Trollaigh.