Wee Davie And The German Girl

05/07/2005

Weather remains changeable, as forecast, with showers, strong westerlies, but plenty of spectacular clouds from black to fluffy white and even sun and blue sky, I suppose blustery would describe it. For my American readers I can spread the news that we have had good snow cover on the tops, so snow in January, February, March, April and May so far! Friday was a rare treat, good progress in the office in the morning, then round to Arichastlich for lunch and off to Glasgow for 5.00 to meet up with likeminded souls for a wonderful concert of 30 odd Runrig songs, performed in the Glasgow Royal Concert Hall by lots of different contemporary artists, choirs and Schools, all in Gaelic. Quite splendid, although once more the Gaelic Mafia, who we willingly support with millions of tax dollars, made it clear that we enthusiastic amateurs and “learners” are just the second-class citizens of Gaeldom. This attitude worries me as it will ultimately sign the death warrant for public funding of education, arts and broadcasting for the promotion of Gaelic, but it appears to be the choice of the elite “native speaker”, so hell mend them. Only considerable contrition will save them in the longer term. My old friend “Wee Davie” was in our company and in excellent form, despite his age and infirmity he still managed to chat up a single young female German Runrig fan. He then proceed to show great interest to twin nymphs dressed to kill in white mini-skirts and these strange white furry boots, “Poodle shorn Polar Bears” booms Wee Davie, while his contemporaries were swapping tales of their most recent hospital treatments, I only wish I had half his stamina. We leave the darkened streets of Glasgow and head north with the bad news that the despicable Lib Dems have held Argyll, the last seat to be declared, despite doubling the cost of the count, plonkers to a man. Head up the road through the thinning traffic and the odd shower, wonderful to struggle closer to the high country and home at last to the Tower of Glen Trollaigh and a huge after midnight Ardbeg. The great Bed of Trollaigh awaits. Yours Aye, Archie, The Baron Trollaigh.