Twenty Kilo Monday

03/07/2005

Monday, Monday, as the song goes. It is murky to start with but unfolds into a lovely day. Layers of weather from soft blown mist in the Glen, higher white clouds around the snowy peaks, light grey overcast above, and every now and then we get glimpses of open blue sky and sunshine. The windy is cyclonic, but mainly southwest, it veers toward the north and even northeast for a short while. We have dry weather and the temperature “soars” to an almost record breaking plus ten degrees. Being Monday, much of the day has to be spent indoors and in the office, pouring over papers and making numerous phone calls which will hopefully provide productivity for the next few days, and all goes well. As Gordon Brown seems to be regaining some control over the election plans for President Blair, there are several furtive phone calls from the Highbury house. It seems that a PR opportunity has popped up for the eldest daughter. With heavy hearts, dearest Dotty and I hear of her plans to return to London. We will miss her desperately, as we have very easily slipped into the comfort of having her about the pace. However, we must not stand in the way of election PR. To say nothing of a small salary coming into the Highbury house to offset the normal negative cash flow. The eldest does admit to me one final frustration with Lachie. Apparently, he quoted some obscure human rights issue; previously he had been expected to lift 25 kilo sacks of whatever in the safe course of his employment. Lachie complained to the eldest that under the new code he should now not be asked to lift more than 20 kilos.  During sympathetic discussions about this, Lachie negotiated a piecework payment for moving 20 kilo sacks of sheep nuts: i.e. the same wages for handling twenty five percent less weight. The bastard has stitched us up, as he now lifts three sacks at a time, so that we are now paying him for an hour and a half, when he has only worked for one hour. I have marked his cunning card, and as I savour an Ardbeg, I think of ways for getting even. Previous Barons never had these problems; do I not have the right to shoot someone? Yours Aye, Archie, The Baron Trollaigh.