Doggie Bags

There is definitely something about early October mornings, the thick rolling mist that at last shows the air temperature to be lower than that of the land and draws the world closely into a few cosy hundred square metres of shadowy familiar forms. All is quiet as day breaks yet there is the promise of some sunlight to burn the mist away by noon; distant sounds seem close and small details of even those far a way sounds seem nearby; a heavy goods train struggling across Rannoch, our few remaining rutting stags bellowing from different points of the compass. Yet as the mist starts to evaporate the world comes into focus and, of course if you are as lucky as I, and can find some time to take the dogs a wee way up the steep flanks of Glen Trollaigh above the cotton wool, then the bird's eye view shows the odd shower streaming into golden glens from the west as the breeze picks up or perhaps a sight of a wandering tourist far below thinking themselves unobserved while stopping to capture a highland bull image on their ubiquitous i-phone.
This was the time in days gone by when the Tower of Glen Trollaigh would be stuffed with distant cousins and sporting guests; however this now seems to be dropping off, as not only do we age and try to avoid killing things unless we want to eat them, but many of you will have noticed that nowadays spectacles adorn the impressive baronial nose more often than not, so taking aim in Argyll weather becomes a lot more difficult; and let's face it there is plenty of better fun to be had on the river bank as one's joints start to rebel at the thought of a damp day on the hill.
Our old fashioned but innocent pursuit of a beast or two has also been overtaken by the exceptional zeal of government agencies such as the Forestry Commission who aim to bag every living thing whether or not it is theirs to claim. I very much doubt that the honest tree hugging tax payer or pet owning RSPB member has the slightest notion as to the extent of the wholesale slaughter, using unsafe practices and based on incorrect science that is carried out in their name by the FC throughout the land.
Apart from the regular recording of the fortune being generated by the Great Hydro Scheme of Trollaigh much of my summer has been spent in acquiring and commissioning a new boat. Strangely this seems to have needed many restaurant visits from Southampton to Loch Fyne via Plymouth, Howth, Bangor and various other ports. You will appreciate that I am no stranger to an eatery or two, however the wind was quite literally taken out of my sails when entertaining a small party of potential investors at the Riverside Restaurant in Stirling. There being a few surplus scraps at the end of the main course my usual request for a doggy bag was rejected point blank as "no food must be taken away from our restaurant". I could conceivably understand this on some convoluted tax issue or even a pompous commercial secrecy clause in the old insurance policy; however I was told that is was all down to boring old "Health & Safety". Yea Gods has it come to this?
Yours aye, Archie, The Baron Trollaigh.