It's Mull Jim, But Not As We Know It!
Many thanks for messages about Mull and birthdays, particularly to my new Mull Mole he or she has sprung to the defence of the Mull Constabulary who apparently have the added burden not only of looking after Sea Eagles but also road traffic offences. The mainland traffic boys only make infrequent visits to frighten the locals as their delicate high speed pursuit cars cannot cope with Mull's notoriously poor roads. So one should not be too surprised at being collared for double parking outside HRH Prince Charles's favourite chip wagon on the fisherman's pier, or for J walking across Main Street, Tobermory on a wet winter Wednesday by a PC trying to stretch his resources over 200 square miles. I suppose I must have been a bit miffed having just filled the coffers of Calmac and various Mull traders with sums substantially greater than my entire Florence budget, a city that certainly would not bother with a risqué number plate or virtually any other alleged misdemeanour for that matter.
Now that holidays are over it is back to mainland Argyll where snowdrops are fading and daffodils are storming ahead, primroses peep, song birds sing and even a few pigeons haunt the riverside trees. There is a definite feeling of change in the air although any Argyll or Glen Coe hand knows that we can still suffer from winter weather and as I speak the forecasters warn of doom, gloom and snow that will cover the high ground, just when I am keen to pour a few cubes of concrete. C'est la vie! There is however some good news on the employment front, I am sure you will not be surprised to hear that all us country folk are skidding reluctantly into areas of low cash flow that we previously had discounted as unheard of. The naked truth is that we urgently require income to swan on through the coming year, particularly at this point in the critical couple of weeks before Easter. Both dearest Dottie and I have applied for various mundane posts, however in my case my cv and in both of our cases, our date of births have rendered us well nigh unemployable. Even employers normally desperate for manpower to feed the inmates of fish farms or to escort coachloads of silver-back tourists to the attractions of the highlands most easily accessible by wheelchair have turned me down. My personal favourite, an application for the post of a Crinan Canal lock keeper was not even graced with the dignity of an interview with British Waterways. However, good news, I have been approached by a leading dog food manufacturer to research and develop a system to facilitate the equal distribution of the different shapes and flavours of doggie treats within the box of biccies readily available on a supermarket shelf near you. This is a great honour and extremely well paid and one would assume that this complicated matter will take quite a time to resolve, even to an expert in portion control such as myself. This certainly brings back a little confidence to the balance of payments, now where is that flyer from Majestic Wines? All the very best, Archie, The Baron Trollaigh.
The Guilt of Idleness
Monday arrives with snow and thunder, sending the household rushing to disconnect our three separate satellite dishes; how I remember the heady days of "new" technology when the first crack and flash of a storm sent one sprinting to unplug the fax machine which was notoriously vulnerable to the old power surge. Our fax has long since been buried, indeed I was surprised to receive an enquiry a couple of days ago soliciting a "fax back" reply which I had thought went out with the ark. However as the enquiry stemmed from one of the many and mysterious departments of Visitscotland, one should hardly be surprised. Despite a relatively optimistic forecast we are enjoying some lively Atlantic weather which has us all sheltering after the weekly run to transfer the wheelie bins to the Glen Trollaigh road end, a strength sapping task in these conditions. While coffee brews we wait in that no mans land between wanting to get ones teeth into the some meaningful task out of doors, lacking both tools (away for repair) and suitable weather, or alternatively finding the will power to tick something off the indoor list which will inevitably involve ghastly pots of paint or bags of soot. How one envies the Academic on a wet day his or her ability to sit at the library desk, fire blazing, pondering the mysteries of science or the meaning of life, without the guilty burden of broken gutters, a dangerously low stock of firewood or a mysterious patch of damp rising on the scullery wall. A little later in the week and a cracker of a good day appears, now the decision has to be made; skiing or digging, needless to say we choose the later and within hours a link breaks on the digger track leaving me to spend the rest of this sunny day wrestling with pinch bars up to my waist in mud neither digging nor skiing. the following day the rain sets in. To add insult to injury our computer and communication links fail for several days, so there has been damn all scribbling into the bargain!
However all was not lost, dearest Dottie's birthday made its annual appearance and although I struggled manfully to find transport to Florence for a mini shoe buying break, nothing seemed to fit the bill unless one rises in the early hours on a Tuesday or a Sunday to stand in a queue at Prestwick International Airport to become self loading baggage on some mad millionaire Irishman's aeroplane, or set off at a reasonable hour changing at Gatwick, Schipol and Zurich to arrive in Florence half an hour after one has supposed to start the return journey. So what to do? The inspirational answer was three days on Mull, apart from landing at the odd yachtie watering hole I have to confess that I have hardly set foot on this large island not a stones throw from home. We had heavy weather so ferries were cancelled or delayed and the whole population seem to hibernate until Easter leaving most attractions, shops, pubs etc.firmly shut to the March traveller. However by good fortune the Highland Cottage in Tobermory was prising open its doors for the season and we found shelter there. I have heard of this spot and was absolutely delighted with its high standard of comfort, hospitality and excellent cuisine. I can heartily recommend Highland Cottage to anyone, it might be a bit on the cosy side in high season but suited us down to the ground in March. We had a wonderful time motoring to every corner of Mull, with long walks and a trip to Iona, unfortunately a slumbering feeryman thwarted our plan to visit Ulva, but perhaps another time. The only black mark was a ticking off by a policeman for displaying "an illegal" number plate, my cherished TO 55 ERS. The constable, for I believe he was, although he was wearing a green anorak over his uniform covering his warrant badges, pointedly asked me when we were leaving Mull and threatened that if he ever saw that number plate on the island again he would book us. I really was not too upset but so much for all our efforts to encourage visitors and boost the tourist dollar, one can only suppose that all was not well on the domestic front chez PC! Back in Glen Trollaigh the sun shines again so here's hoping we can complete a task or two! Yours aye, Archie, The Baron Trollaigh.
The Magic Pudding
As a nasty weather front spills into western Argyll, I have a few moments to record my thoughts while some pretty chilly looking rain streams down the Great West Windows of The Tower of Glen Trollaigh, a sight that forces even the hardiest of our mutts to seek shelter rather than brave a pee opportunity about the breezy policies. We actually have enjoyed some fair weather however the key issue has been equipment failure as we struggle to maintain the ambitious time table imposed by dearest Dottie on our outdoor "mud and rocks" operations. Trusty twelve year old chain saws have seized, diggers have been lost in muddy morasses and punctures in the tyres of heavy equipment have been infuriatingly reluctant to accept permanent repairs. Frustration with the failure of the old has been compounded by failure with the new; our all singing satellite communication set up is more often "down" than connected and a spiffing new laptop for yours truly has been a complete non starter leading me to revert the old Olivetti and to depend on the good grace of the women folk to transcribe my wanderings into electronic speak when time and Ethernet allows. Of course all this sets one to ponder the acquisition of new toys and the wonderful ways in which deals are sealed in lands west of Glen Coe. Dealing here is more akin to the old swapping of The Travellers that odd bunch of indigenous Scots whose culture is now regrettably lost in all but family names. These fellows would swap anything with a small cash adjustment either way for "the deal", and so it was that a minister not a million miles from this parish swapped a christening for a weed strimmer; now I wonder what I could swap for a new or at least recent model chainsaw?
More importantly some of my canny advisers indicate the imminent withdrawal of Erie from the euro, spurred on enthusiastically by France and Germany, this will in turn bring a devaluation of the pound sterling, so my advice is to buy those toys now before the tenner in your pocket is worth only nine pounds or less, when johnnie foreigner finally pushes the nose of our complete washout of a government firmly in the you know what!
We seem to be riding a wave of seasonable sociable functions that have all been, or we hope will be great fun. Not a lot stirs in this part of the world at this time of the year where lambs are not planned to appear until after Lent, however we can be found kicking up our kilts at local "scenes" on a friday evening,even travelling to spots as far apart as Glasgow and Port Glasgow to heuch and tcheuch the nights away supporting any old cause. As well as strong drink and good company these events often involve a repast of very varying standards and always of the three course variety, these bun fights are becoming a little more cosmopolitan and our recent "do" at the Al Shamra/Gourock Felicitation Society the main course was a curry, now that one has to cater for veggies and fat people with food allergies, it was a spicy mushroom affair. I haven't a clue where the chef sourced his or her ingredients but I found myself and dearest Dottie siting bolt upright in the Great Bed of Trollaigh at 3.30am as wide awake as Easter Bunnies only after a couple of hours pacing and reading could I return to the land of nod. On the other hand there is never any variety in the pudding, always a Pavlova tasting vaguely of cardboard and made with fake cream, however all is not lost when this abomination is tickled up with a generous measure of Calvados from a pre-prepared flask. Now where are we of to this weekend? Yours aye, Archie, The Baron Trollaigh.
