Taffy Lovers

03/26/2005

The wind backs to the east, and this, in theory brings us drier weather. We suffer the odd light shower, but the skies are more open, we can clearly see all the peaks up to about 3500 feet, above that each mountain top wears a cloudy cap. Out of the breeze, it is pleasantly warm and when we are favoured by an instant or two of sun, the temperature soars. This Easter Saturday brings us more than our usual quota of dodgy white vans and grubby campers, only Tuesday will tell if, A. they are moving on. B, how many old batteries, tyres etc that they are graciously leaving us. I must also assume that heir lurchers will bring down the odd deer and that the River Trollaigh will host a few less fish when our guests are gone. All the Wildlife Wardens, Bailiffs, Community Policemen in the world will not make a bit of difference to this problem, as, since the Land Reform Act, no one wants any friction or confrontation. I note with some glee that the Home Counties are suffering more than most from an influx of Irish Travellers connecting themselves to the national grid, local sewers and the U.K. benefit system, and straight into an increase in votes for the Tory party. Surely, a time must come when political correctness gives way to the wishes of the local community? In the tranquillity of our garden we do meet the most interesting people, and today is no exception, the Easter holiday brings The Jones, who burst upon our rustic idyll from Wessex with the unexpected news that they may be relatives. I certainly never imagined for a momment that I might have Welsh blood flowing in my veins. However, the Joneses assure me that a long forgotten celtic pirate, David Og, laid siege to The Tower of Glen Trollaigh in 16something, sacked the place, sowed seed and therefore they can claim kinship. This is, of course, complete tosh, as even the dimmest Welshman must realise that Glen Trollaigh is leagues from the sea, and that no local lass would entertain a leek lover, under any mortal threat. As the afternoon sunshine and some Mhairi inspired tea and denture breaking biscuits fail to dampen the Jones’s enthusiasm. I succeed in unsettling them by suggesting that the Jones clan could be remembered with the naming of a water feature in their honour in exchange for a £50,000 donation to the Great Trollaigh Trust. Relations become strained and the tyres on their Ford Sierra fairly kicked up the gravel as they speed away to another kinship claim. When will these tossers learn that we are not as green as we are cabbage looking, and leave us in peace on holiday weekends? With relief, I raise an Ardbeg to Easter Saturday, wishing for midges and heavy rain to drive off the grubby campers. Yours Aye, Archie, The Baron Trollaigh.