Yellow Lines

03/04/2005

The strong winds come whistling in from the north and back a little to the north west. It is very cold with temperatures around freezing but feeling colder in the strong breeze. It stays mainly dry with an odd, very light wintery shower. Plenty of snow above 1500 feet and tales of fifteen inches of snow at Aviemore. Dearest Dotty decides to tackle her personal papers today, while I flip into Oban for bits and pieces of stores. It is bitter beside the sea and I have to move briskly from call to call, even though I am well wrapped up. Not having time for the luxury of a white tablecloth lunch, I opt for the next best thing, a mutton pie from The Nevis Bakery. This Fort William based enterprise has won many prizes every year since I can remember for their baked goods and I wholeheartedly recommend their products to any snacky eater. On the way into Oban I am reminded of how bad our rural roads are becoming with a sighting of the latest Scottish Executive spin; the Surveyor With Yellow Paint. These unfortunates travel the appalling scottish road system with measuring and surveying gear looking terribly important, painting yellow lines round cracks, subsidence and potholes. Obviously, repair work is imminent. Any sensible person may think that, but it is all tosh, the yellow paint may make you feel better, but after a few rainstorms, the paint disappears and one finds oneself still crashing into the same tarmac crevasses. The budget has been squandered on free taxis for one-legged lesbians, and the surveyors are raising the hopes of another gullible community far to the north. Now where is the Ardbeg? Yours Aye, Archie, The Baron Trollaigh.