Trollaigh Swapping.
06/14/2006
After baking the old bonce almost black in the hot sunshine of the past few days, I am pleased to say that things have cooled down to a seasonal 18 to 20 degrees, with a few sunny periods and even a shower or two. The down side is the arrival of our summer curse, midges. As soon as any breeze drops below a steady puff, we are surrounded by clouds of the buggers. I try to let them have a good chew of my wrinkled hide at this time of year so that I might build up a little resistance by the opening of the season on the 12th Aug. However, yesterday I had great difficultly avoiding the crazed hopping about and swiping stage, when I spent an hour or so getting the last of our potatoes in. Just the very mention of them has me scratching as I write.
A phone call confirms the triumphant return of the Glen Orchy Kerrs from their family wedding in Ireland, and a fine time seems to have been had by all concerned. The weather was perfect and the expensive reception a great success, although rumours are circulating that some Scots were startled by the creationist nature of the vicar’s address. It is odd that the traditional Christian values of good old-fashioned guilt seem to be back in vogue. The hair shirt brigade have not penetrated the Argyll glens, although I did find a pamphlet asking “Are You Ready To Die” nailed to the gate post by some evangelist from Connel too timorous to approach to double oak doors of the Tower of Glen Trollaigh. Come to think of it, the Connel branch of the Later Day Saints probably still remember the time when the 17th Baron made one of their number sit in a barrel of cold water in a waspy corner of the Rose Garden, to prove some point on stoicism that the said evango had been proposing on the front step.
I found myself to be the butt of several tasteless jokes at the recent Oban Charities Day, of which I am normally a significant supporter. Apparently, as our tourist season gets under way; many upper class English twits are thoughtlessly stocking up with nibbles and Chablis in the Oban Tesco en route to their restored butt and bens on Mull, Tiree and Colonsay. They have brought with them the new craze of “Trolley Swapping” from the Chelsea Harvey Nicks or some such. Whereby if you spot some tempting item on the pile of groceries coming through the checkout behind you, one simply swap it to your own pile, thereby denying the pleasure of a pat of butter or a can of beans to your plebeian neighbour. There have been heated outbursts at Tesco’s over this heartless practice, so that a beefy faced Oban Rotarian asked me what all this “Trollaigh Swapping” was about, Bastard. I will be buying goats for the blind of Namibia from now on.
Anyway, dearest Dottie and I extend all our good wishes to the newly weds, Jono and Heather, who apparently started on the long road of marriage with a blow-out at One Devonshire Gardens, a suite that I could not possibly afford, keep spending Jono! Yours aye, Archie, The Baron Trollaigh.