Ice With That, Sir?

Here in the Antipodes as the sun shines and the temperature holds a steady Queensland autumn 23C,national confidence can be measured by learned Australian reports showing that the Antarctic ice is growing and thickening, good news all round. On the other hand the whinging poms take gloomy pleasure in announcing yet another failed, gender balanced expedition costing zillions to put some Cavalry Officer of dubious pedigree on the Arctic ice; the blighter then uses a tool first designed by Shackleton to forecast the onset of doomsday, before being airlifted to safety because his loo seat is broken and they have run out of tampons. Hey chaps, its the northern hemisphere spring any first former can tell you that the ice is melting.

I don't know about you chaps but I am having a bit of a problem with reading matter, it seems eons since I bothered too much about anything other than a few pages at bedtime. Suddenly here in the outback with the old Baronial bottom gently moulding into a veranda deck-chair I am faced with a pile of tomes to wile away the balmy hours before the sun is over the yard arm. I seem to be unable to get my teeth into any serious literature and the 500 page popular sagas bore me shitless. No wonder the elderly prefer a diet of Tatler and The Field, jolly good stuff. One blessing of living on the edge of the rain forest is; No Telly, simply wonderful.

Family weddings can be a bit of a mixed blessing, there are often those Rellies best avoided, however on the other hand there is normally a whole new family of in-laws to be met for the first time, and here in Australia where the baby boomers have created the "blended family" of divorce and re-marriage, one must be doubly cautious if one is naturally gregarious. Hardly a day or two into our jet-lag and dearest Dottie and I are torn from the deck-chairs and whisked off to a delightful kirk on the ranges west of Brisbane to attend the nuptials of a niece. I have prepared a tropical version of the highland kit with kilt, open necked shirt, long socks and deck shoes silently raising a silent prayer in the heat to the Trollaigh commando tradition. Dearest Dottie is simply fabulous in the infamous pink Von Furstenburg wrap with a large straw hat. Because of the risk of loss during air travel the bank would not release some of the classier Trollaigh Trinkets, and in retrospect they would have been a bit OT, certainly apart from the bride not a tiara was to be seen. The service was to be "non religious" however with all the old hippies belting through "Morning Has Broken" and lots of traditional Bridal aires, the whole affair fairly oozed all encompassing joy and celebration. In the super weather it was a pleasure to stand outside and chat while the team photos were snapped, then onward to a relaxed reception at a restaurant whose open veranda gave a view from the Range over the Glasshouse mountains to the ocean some 40K to the east, very special. One simply cannot go wrong with food and drink here as the locals sensibly keep the very best (labelled export quality) for themselves before shipping what is left to Mr Tesco. Wines, meat, seafood, fruit and vegetables are outstanding in quality and value. Cook your own or try any chip shop on the Gold Coast to appreciate what we idiots are prepared to accept back home.

Hardly a day to recover and I blag a lift to Brisbane to hire a car to carry dearest Dottie and I further westward onto the next stage of our hols. Yours aye, Archie, The Baron Trollaigh.