Wednesday, December 05, 2007
UHT Goes Bad
12/05/2007
November departs leaving us cold, raw and damp. Burns tumble, the snow level edges down the mountainsides the only relief being a couple of gales from different compass points. Squally rain disturbs my slumbers battering on the drafty window frames of the old Governor’s east wing quarters whence I have been banished after criticising the extravagant use of resources needed to heat dearest Dottie’s steaming Glen Trollaigh infinity plunge pool. This contraption with many an aggressive jet and surging wave is an absolute must for female equanimity; though apparently it is deemed churlish to complain about the high pitched scream that comes from the electricity meter when the bally thing is fired up, to say nothing of the dimming of street lights across Argyll. The dogs seem to favour the airy climate of the eastern tower, although I do note that none stir until a glimmer of our winter daylight appears at 8.30 am when I am forced to hop across the chilly stone flags to the icy kazie, even then they deliberate at the boot room door between a speedy piddle on the gravel or take the risk of a soaking, though glorious gambol across the parks and hedges.
Thoughts of speedy piddles and plumbing calls for some comment on the many public conveniences that I have been forced to visit throughout my short trips in November, including two trips to Ye Olde England, then the north of Scotland followed by Inverness and Perth. One has to say that in general standards continue to improve even in the hard pressed motorway halts, presumably due to the large numbers immigrants willing to keep polishing the porcelain. However apart from the most private of pissoires one cannot avoid that fear that the whole receptacle will overflow onto one’s boots because some silly chav has blocked the pipe work with a wad of gum. One of my London trips was to take lunch with a Senior Royal celebrating sixty years continuous membership of a mutual gentleman’s club though I don’t suppose HRH has ever had to stump up a sub. Here one could be sure of the plumbing although security was quite another matter as every one of the seventy odd geriatric military gentlemen present was supported by at least one walking stick, any one of whom could have felled the Duke with a single blow and might well have done so after the liberal toasts.
By far and away our best jolly was a last minute forty eight hour pass to Colonsay, where despite wild east winds and a “doubtful” ferry crossing, cares and woes were stripped away on joint cracking, limb stiffening coastal tramps. As guests in an island house one can also catch up with all the gossip and both sides of many a political tale, however fear not my dears you can rely in the absolute discretion of yours truly. Home again in Glen Trollaigh and surrounded by the reassuring bulk of The Tower of Glen Trollaigh we can turn towards Christmas and hopefully tick a few chores off the list before siblings and cousins appear for the festivities. As I search for a suitable Seasonal Spruce I must try to block out irritating world news that seriously tells of an attempt to slice a few pence off Mr Tesco’s electricity bill by banning sales of all but UHT milk. Or perhaps the proof that much of the world outwith Glen Trollaigh remains in the middle ages as jihadist teddies dominate international politics, come on chaps let’s sweep all this nonsense off the beaches! Yours aye, Archie, The Baron Trollaigh.