A LADY AT LEISURE
This Lady’s all for turning when it comes to cajoling her other half
Big boys and their toys amuse the lady of the house
Visiting Americans are asking about my new role as Lord Lieutenant. I explain that there are some thirty of us in Scotland and that we are the Queen’s personal representatives in the areas we live in.
I continue: among other things, we help to organise royal visits and we take royal birthday cards to centenarians. We officiate at citizenship ceremonies and get involved in a range of civic and charitable duties.
They listen politely, but are still curious. ‘Is this Lord Loo-tenant an elected position?’ No, I say. It is an appointed one. Laughter breaks out. ‘Appointed! God, we love you guys. You’re just so undemocratic…’
Actually, I don’t think we are undemocratic. In fact, the Armstrong/MacGregor household is a reasonably equal abode. Admittedly the responsibilities are fairly traditional. I am chief cook and bottle washer, looking after shopping, food, housework and laundry. The chief, meanwhile, has log burners and lawns on his list of jobs.
I leave it to you to work out who has the most time to tramp the hills or sit on the sofa and read books. It is no matter. It works for us. I may be a career woman, but at heart I am an old-fashioned northern girl. I come from a family where the men were served first at meals and the women sat in the back seat of the car.
Times change, of course. These days, folk tend to
‘ A certain amount of head turning goes on in our house’
help themselves to food. And I have progressed to the front of the vehicle. Whisper it, on occasion I am even allowed to drive the thing...
It is tongue in cheek, but we all find ways of living together. As that insightful quote from the film My Big Fat Greek Wedding goes: ‘The man may be the head of the household. But the woman is the neck and she can turn the head any way she pleases.’
A certain amount of neck turning goes on in this house. Yet I have to say that when the MacGregor is not half-way up a mountain, or engrossed in some weighty tome about clans, he can be found working in the garden.
I am not talking here about weeding pansy borders. Nor will we see him pruning roses, or dividing daffodil bulbs any time soon. But anything to do with noisy machinery and it is attacked with gusto.
The chief is champion with a chainsaw. Ask him to fell a tree. No problem. Just don’t expect him to wash the sawdust out of his logging shirt afterwards. Mention t he fact that t he hedge needs cutting and he’s onto it right away because this is an excuse to try out the latest electric trimmer.
There is more. He keeps the grass in excellent trim. And from now on it will be looking even smarter, thanks to the super-duper ride-on he has just invested in.
Yes, a new state-of-the-art mowing contraption arrived this month. It is the boys’ toy to end all boys’ toys. A monster of a machine, shiny red and robot-like. In fact, technology doesn’t come into it. You need a degree in engineering to work out its full functions.
The new baby is indeed bright. It promises to leave the lawn looking velvet smooth and tame the wildest scrub. The chief is gripped by his latest gadget. So do not be offended if you invite us to Sunday lunch and he says we cannot come. It is not you. Until the lure wears off, we will not be going anywhere. I think it is called democracy…