Sunday, July 29, 2007
Waders and Wine
07/29/2007
Prayers given up to the almighty from the side of the Great Bed of Trollaigh concerning water levels needed for fishing have been answered. Suitable overnight rains have swollen the River Trollaigh sending our paying guests cavorting to the river banks clad in rubber and neoprene. Rod tips have bent, lines have tightened and the red bearded Ghillies have been stuffing generous tips into their ample cleavages. Fortunately we presently have a mixed party, as “boy’s” weeks tend to bring out the very worst in a chap, burning the candle at both ends, competitive sulking, leaving rooms in a state, demanding food at odd hours and worst of all stomping about the rod room’s five hundred year old Oak floor in spike shod waders. Where men bring well trained river bank dogs, the downside of womenfolk is that they are accompanied by completely uncontrollable Pugs and Terriers that cause havoc in any well ordered house. It is best to take care the moment the Range Rover tailgate drops and darling Coochee Coo leaps into attack mode, favourite targets being one’s trousers, and any other reachable domestic pet or farmyard animal. It is essential for future harmony to chew hard on the mustachios, avoid hysterical laughter, resist the overwhelming temptation to boot Coochee into the long grass, and then have a well rehearsed cheerful throwaway remark ready whilst one deftly removes the remains of the prize cockerel from Coochee’s foul jaws. This is all an overture to an appalling display of bad manners, eating at all hours, begging at the table, muddy paws on furniture, upstairs and on beds, so all in all no different from a boy’s week!
Many fishermen enjoy making free with our renowned wine cellar, however the trend for yuppies to favour the New World with lots of bubbles means that many guests send cases of wine ahead of their arrival for their personal consumption and a touch of wine snobbery; “found this on the SOUTH side of the Yarrabong in ’02 when I hiked across the Waga Plain with that crazy old guide Macpherson, you remember darling, it just lacks that double cream nose of the station on the north bank”. I received a call from a wine merchant in Upper Street who had an advance order for a couple of cases placed by a guest and enquiring about the shipping address. Now in the North Argyll glens we are well used to excess carriage charges because we chose to live in the country, it all started were a ferry crossing was involved and became known as an “Island Surcharge” although it now applies to all of Scotland north and west of Perth. However this Upper Street wine cove point blank refused to send the plonk when I carefully and clearly explained the locus of Glen Trollaigh, as the twit claimed that it was an “antisocial address”, one feels that wino kid did not quite mean to use that exact phrase although it paints a poor picture of any wine buff trading south of Watford. Stick to Sainsbury, dear guests, who will deliver anywhere FOC, although you will have to withstand the daily non PC e-mails thereafter exhorting you to swill it back and buy some more. Chin chin my dears, Yours aye, Archie, The Baron Trollaigh.