Sunday, April 15, 2007

Shorts Weather

04/15/2007

I have been scribbling a few words of nonsense over the last few days to tell you about our Easter weekend family gathering, however I have just deleted the whole bally issue and must start again, for in the dawn hours of this morning while I was letting the mutts roam the policies, for which I now dress in plimsolls and khaki shorts following Christopher’s advice about the pleasure of dog fur against the shins as one grows older, and C is spot on, it’s rather jolly. However I digress, as the sun sparkled on the light frost, its beautiful beams marching across the floor of Glen Trollaigh, I spotted what I thought was a Skylark fluttering over the home farm steadings, but no it was our first Swallow! On Friday the thirteenth, now what could that tell us about the year to come? The mercury soars to 18 degrees, the sun shines from a cloudless sky and the hounds clog every shady doorway chewing on the rugs, hoping the gentle westerly breeze may sooth their still thick winter coats, Lachie wisely moves the Schweppes from the larder to the fridge, mould is swept from canvas outdoor cushions, bumble bees drone against the tall library windows and Red Admirals flutter on the skylights, fresh from their winter quarters in the Baronial dressing room. This is the joy of a proper spring that hundreds of thousands of English believe can only be enjoyed in some crumbling Greek goatherd’s grotto or perhaps a equally crumbling concrete condo on the Costas, but no, my friends, we Tollaighs have stretched our weary winter bones to this God given re-birth in Glen Trollaigh every spring for generations, and there is nothing to beat it from Artic to Biscoe Sound.

Although we had three dull days at the start of this week, our month-long spell of cracking weather continues. I always dread an Easter weekend of good weather as it brings out the campers, this year broke all records with about 150 extra inhabitants in Glen Trollaigh. They were to a man, out their trees on dope and booze, the new vogue being to use the countryside as a safe opium den, however to give plod his due I was very pleased to see a police mobile patrol sweep through just to remind those taking advantage of The Land Reform act that it is not all beer and skittles. God knows what the townie’s new freedom is costing us all in tax dollars as Argyll and Bute Council and the Forestry poured welcome resources into keeping North Argyll clean, while Strathclyde Fire and Rescue ploughed trillions of man hours into beating out many grass fires started in the main by the dreaded disposable Tesco barbeque, an invention of the devil if ever there was one, for when used its too bloody hot to carry away home, and when left behind the aluminium container has a half life of a billion years.

We had a super family Easter bash including church parade which was a few minutes late when the Padre arrived at the wrong Kirk. Daytime entertainment is tricky in this “off” season with virtually no chance on the River Trollaigh apart from knot practice; however we managed a reasonable crow shoot. We have improved the presentation of these crafty crovoids by trapping them in Larsen cages and releasing them a la clay pigeon to the guns at the last moment. I had to disqualify the top shot, Dr Ernest Beard PhD, of the Wet and Marshlands Trust. For although his PhD is in the unrelated “Tension and Stress in pre 1910 Golf Clubs”, he was not properly dressed, failing to be supported by a loader carrying the required Easter decanter of Ardbeg, cigars and long matches. I have a suspicion that the girls set this serious fellow up in waders and Aran woolly top sans dram. Yours aye, Archie, The Baron Trollaigh.