Sunday, July 08, 2007

G & T In The Park.

07/08/2007

I write bobbing at anchor in Balnahard Bay, Colonsay. I am on watch whilst Diana Drummond scours the reefs for her magic seaweeds. I itch to get ashore and skive off to the golf course and perchance a pint of the new Colonsay Beer, however at least I have an hour or two to reflect on the past couple of weeks as the cloud shadows chase along the golden sands of this idyllic spot, only slightly spoiled by the constant tramp of hiking boots transporting wildlife enthusiasts and PhD gestapos patrolling the rather tired looking Site of Special Scientific Interest that sits behind the dunes. I am sure that all these chaps have the best of intentions however the place is overrun by seals and goats, the traditional grazing by livestock has been replaced by thistles, the variety of birdlife greatly reduced. Thinking of quangos, I note that The Woodlands Trust is asking the public and land managers to send in reports of ancient trees that they stumble across so that a national database of elderly arboria may be compiled. One must assume that the numerous and highly paid experts employed by TWT are too overworked to get out and about looking for said trees themselves, however they cannot possibly be naïve enough to believe that any land manager in his or her right mind would draw the attention of conservationists to carefully managed rolling acres, indeed a cynic might hear the distant roar of chainsaws in many a spinney.

It is difficult to pick out the highs and lows since I last put digit to keyboard. I spent a pleasant couple of days at The Game Conservancy Scottish Fair, Scone Palace where it was very difficult to keep the wallet in the pocket and together with a few chums we made a good account of ourselves in the Adam & Company hospitality tent. The dears at Adam have now restricted the free Champers to between the hours of 12 till 2, resulting in even more of a swill amongst the great and the good foregathered in 90% humidity of the Adam marquee, while dogs and grandchildren mud wrestled outside. The mention of mud brings me to the weather; the glorious warm sunshine of April in Glen Trollaigh is but a distant memory while we, as well as The Wimbledon Tennis Championship, continue to struggle with cool, showery days. If one ignores the ticks and midges, the conditions have been wonderful for the songbirds, wild grasses and flowers. The heady scent of Bog Myrtle fills the air attracting many dragonflies; the high water provides some good fishing on the darker, secret pools of the River Trollaigh.

The terrorist attack on Glasgow Airport fills the media; the nation’s reaction to such an event is critical, so it is heartening to note that this has been calm and measured without a hint of jingoism. If the jokes, featuring Muslims with the last names such as Majeep, circulating in the watering holes of north Argyll are anything to go by, the Dunkirk spirit is high. One also appreciates the great good humour of the many holiday makers from Central Scotland who were separated for a few hours from their beloved Iberian destinations. To paraphrase Dickens, God bless us one and all. Yours Aye, Archie, The Baron Trollaigh.