Boo Hoo Bamboo
After ten weeks of almost continuous Alpine weather a soft southerly breeze brings milder, misty conditions that chase the snow line up the mountainsides and heralds the first school holidays of the year. This midterm week was devised by posh schools to allow their parents to nip off en famille to the pistes, said parents quickly expanded it to a pre-recession fortnight, forcing the Hoi Polloi to follow suit with a holiday that seems to have become a traditional father's bonding weekend in the hills, mum being far too busy with a high pressure career and mortgage repayments to take time off to cuddle children. I was unfortunate enough to witness the result of this paternalism whilst dining at The Bridge of Orchy Hotel, the sight of unshaven dads hosting tables of frankly fat, poorly dressed, dirty children whilst the constant electronic pinging of mobile phones, games and suchlike made overhearing what little conversation there was well nye impossible. Do not misunderstand me, I enjoy a noisy dining room as much as the next man, however I cannot understand a hotel with a dress code (please do not remove your shoes) and a hatred of gaming machines allowing this nonsense, it almost put me off what was otherwise an excellent meal.
The fishing season opens as the game season closes and I have to admit that hardly a shot has been fired in anger during January, the weather being far too good to go around killing things. Instead dearest Dottie and I have managed enough Scottish skiing to grind the rust off our edges and marvel at magnificent views. The rods remain racked although as I plough through the routine ground maintenance and plan weather permitting ploys ahead, I find myself increasingly considering the well loved softly swirling pools and whether they have survived the winter floods unchanged, perhaps tomorrow or even the day after.
Every so often some kind cove sends a new product for the baronial endorsement and so it was that postie delivered a pair of Bambooties for my appraisal, these are labelled as Bamboo socks, so one can imagine the caution with which I opened the package. I was amazed to discover that these chaps are very similar to my beloved Merino Wool Icebreakers, in fact surprisingly so, especially as the material is formulated to a secret recipe in China, with of course a bearded PhD banging on about sustainability and other eco-babble. Although the Bambooties are perfectly OK, I shall be sticking to the Icebreakers, which at least I know for certain start out in life on the back of an NZ Merino sheep. As I waded through the Bambootie PR Bumf I was astounded to read the name Col Randolph Tweed-Luff, this ancient is apparently IC the development of a Bambootie lined condom. This arse was the very creep who made my early school years an absolute misery. The fact that he is not only alive but also has anything remotely to do with sexual congress had me grasping for breath and reaching for the Hendricks in double order.
Hey Ho, at least life in the North Argyll glens continues at a happy, steady pace and one can hardly get too upset when contemplating glorious Glen Coe while the ice clinks against the Waterford Crystal. Yours aye, Archie, The Baron Trollaigh.
The fishing season opens as the game season closes and I have to admit that hardly a shot has been fired in anger during January, the weather being far too good to go around killing things. Instead dearest Dottie and I have managed enough Scottish skiing to grind the rust off our edges and marvel at magnificent views. The rods remain racked although as I plough through the routine ground maintenance and plan weather permitting ploys ahead, I find myself increasingly considering the well loved softly swirling pools and whether they have survived the winter floods unchanged, perhaps tomorrow or even the day after.
Every so often some kind cove sends a new product for the baronial endorsement and so it was that postie delivered a pair of Bambooties for my appraisal, these are labelled as Bamboo socks, so one can imagine the caution with which I opened the package. I was amazed to discover that these chaps are very similar to my beloved Merino Wool Icebreakers, in fact surprisingly so, especially as the material is formulated to a secret recipe in China, with of course a bearded PhD banging on about sustainability and other eco-babble. Although the Bambooties are perfectly OK, I shall be sticking to the Icebreakers, which at least I know for certain start out in life on the back of an NZ Merino sheep. As I waded through the Bambootie PR Bumf I was astounded to read the name Col Randolph Tweed-Luff, this ancient is apparently IC the development of a Bambootie lined condom. This arse was the very creep who made my early school years an absolute misery. The fact that he is not only alive but also has anything remotely to do with sexual congress had me grasping for breath and reaching for the Hendricks in double order.
Hey Ho, at least life in the North Argyll glens continues at a happy, steady pace and one can hardly get too upset when contemplating glorious Glen Coe while the ice clinks against the Waterford Crystal. Yours aye, Archie, The Baron Trollaigh.
posted by The Baron Trollaigh at
6:35 AM
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