Thursday, February 07, 2008
Teeth Marks
02/07/2008
If memory serves me right there used to be a saying amongst the temporarily accommodated ghillies of North Argyll that “If the caravan’s rocking, don’t come knocking”. Alas the trailer rocks not for me, however loud nocturnally Albanian groaning and giggling copulation renders sleep well nigh impossible at Camping Les Pines, east of Montreux. It goes without saying that I have managed to engage the fairer gender in cheery conversation during my Swiss ramblings, however inviting even a disreputable Countessa back to a metal box in an isolated plantation of Christmas trees fails to offer even the most limited of charms. The lakeside now presents a pleasant spring climate with geriatric generals sipping tea on the terraces whilst the higher mountains are still in the hard grip of winter and I do try and spend as much time away from the dreadful trailer as possible. Monday saw me in Zurich where those good sports at Adam & Co have set up a line of credit with DBS thereby circumventing the efforts of the girls to curb my spending. During the grilling from my new DBS relationship facilitator I discovered that her name was not “Team 3” as per her I.D. badge but “Geneva”, upon friendly enquiry I was curtly told that the name stems from “the city of my conception”, how silly of me for I know of the odd Chelsea, even an Oban or two although I am somewhat worried about the fecundity of the isle of Islay or the gaelic Isla which seems to have a lot to answer for in the honeymoon overload stakes, one must fear the worst for Benbecula or heaven forbid, Bridal Suite Les Pines. Another visit took me to Chateaux de Chillon (final scene of the last James Bond) and onwards to Gruyeres, where those masters of the salty plastic cheese are chortling over the helicopering of two of their number to St Kilda at £zillion per millisecond to give an expert opinion on the landing of Spanish rats by identifying the incisor nibbling on cheesy baits. The fromageristes cannot believe their luck as any fool knows that General Franco banned the embarkation of rats of any political persuasion on Spanish vessels eons ago.
News from David the QC is upbeat as it seems that the Oban Procurator Fiscal has thrown out all charges of “Wildlife Crime” against me as there are currently no Beavers in Scotland that I can offend, even the reduced conspiracy charge is uncertain now that she has realised that the smelly straw bale resting in her private Drimvargie Road parking place is in fact the organic, compostable unisex urinal of The Albany Street Wildlife Camp. Council Operatives are considering their options for its disposal, however they better be quick whilst her honour the PF has to pay for parking adjacent to the court offices. The Oban Tesco Manager has also formally complained to the police about the wildlife campers as the normal stock loading towards pizzas and frozen oven chips has been thrown in the four winds as every gram of organic, gluten free, vegetarian purvey has been grabbed from the shelves by a grungy crew constantly complaining about wheelchair toilet access. So things are looking hopeful for repatriation to Glen Trollaigh, although all my Skype connection to The Tower of Trollaigh seems to raise is a vague recorded message indicating the absence of the inhabitants due to a “Caribbean Stravaig” what the hell are they up to? Yours from “Terrace Countessa Maria” Rochers de Naye, Archie, always The Baron Trollaigh.