Thursday, February 28, 2008
Winter Blues
02/28/2008
A sturdy teak framed wicker lounger with those little wheels supports yours truly, I am wrapped from top to toe in a Loden cape, Borsollino on the baronial bonce and the mince pies are shielded by HRH Ray Bans. I lie in brilliant Alpine sunshine surveying glorious mountains with snow covered ridges and icy gullies from a stone flagged terrace, the bright bubbles of a light prosecco tinkle at my right hand. One would be forgiven for thinking that the jolly Baron is shirking on the sonnen platz of the St Morritz Zugspitzhoff, however imagine my delight that this scene is being played out on the “Laird’s” terrace at dear old Tower of Glen Trollaigh, yes, gentle reader I am home at last after what seems like eons exiled at “Camping Les Pins” east of Montreux. The oiks have been swept from Albany Street and all charges dropped although a stern warning has been issued that the “B” world must never cross these lips and that it is expected that I will be cheering to the rafters in support of any future re-wilding project, of which I feel sure there will be many.
The culture shock of returning from a country where one laughs at the very idea of the EU, balance the books, obey the law, keep the burka in a box and lights out at 10.30; to our rude, lawless land of chaos, corruption and confusion has been difficult to cope with. As I wait for the return of dearest Dottie and the girls from their break with Arthur Bennington on St Kitts, both my mood and the weather darken with each wireless broadcast. Chums telephone to give advance warning of the melt down due in March when the big hitters will re-finance, probably as far away from bankrupt Britain as possible. Taxes and gales rise, solid sheets of rain start to seek out the weak points of the elderly slates on The Tower of Glen Trollaigh. After my Swiss experience I am frankly amazed by the sheer incompetence of the current hopeless government, I assume that with the inevitable elevation of failed Blair to Euro President, the rear end of New Labour are now dispensable. Gone are low taxes, balance of payments, economic growth now is the time for debt, war and disaster. To-day’s offering from the airwaves concerns Doctor Nutty PhD (salary £175,000 plus pension) chair of some curious quango who has fined Network Rail a few zillion pounds. Break my bonce with a soggy cod but surely any numbskull can see that as a nationalised operation the fine will be funded by the taxpayers, reduced investment and the already abused rail user. Rather than letting nationalised services become even more disgracefully underfunded, Doc Nutty and all his pals should have their balls held in a vice until public transport problems are resolved, I’ll bet all of you a pound to a penny that the trains would run on time pdq. I also note that an overspend of a couple of billion pounds on G.P.’s salaries has increased consultation times for the punters, Along with most country dwellers and by mutual agreement I consult my quack in the Golf Club bar at midday where he does indeed take far too long and costs me a small fortune in gin, however thank God the Doc is also presumably hitting some splendid performance target (with extra income) in the process. There will be a welcome in the glens for dearest Dottie, just in time for her birthday, oh bugger forgot our anniversary again! Yours Aye, Archie, The Baron Trollaigh.