More Roamerisms from the early 1990s
Sally O’Sullivan, editor-in-chief of the magazine ‘Good Housekeeping’ was being interviewed on the wireless on Anne Robinson’s show. She was responding to a query from a listener in Wales who wanted to know how she could get rid of the midges in her garden. The editor, with the Irish name, advised she should clear away all stagnant and standing water in her garden. Additionally she could invest in castor oil seeds as the midges ‘don’t like the resultant plants’. As a last resort, Ms O’Sullivan suggested that anyone bothered by midges should contact their local council. An approach should be made, said she, to the environmental health services department for its personnel to eradicate the midge menace. I can just picture the reaction if everyone in Lochaber laid siege to the council offices demanding our local authority tackles our midges!
Two local joiners working on the scaffolding outside the Edinburgh Woollen Mill shop where JL Geddes used to be were replacing the ornate black lettering on the gable wall. As they inserted the new letters, they were arguing about the spelling, not of ‘Woollen’ but, would you believe, ‘Edinburgh’! They got it right, in the end. And ‘Mill’ too!
Two old pals – not joiners – were wending their weary way up Lundavra after a heavy night, or a night on the heavy. As they tackled the hill, the glare from the headlights of passing cars was picking out an object, apparently moving about on the road. ‘Look,’ said one, ‘there’s a wee animal trapped on the road. It’ll get run over if we don’t rescue it.’ His friend agreed. ‘I can see its eyes shining in the lights,’ he said. The dynamic duo held up their hands – and the traffic. The double act then swooped down on what they fondly imagined to be a hedgehog, tortoise or some furry animal. They picked it up gently and discovered it was a plastic plant pot. The ‘eyes’ were, in fact, the two holes in the bottom of the pot and the headlights had been shining through these.
The registration number of Terry Confield’s new motor includes his intitials TFC. But Donald MacFarlane, the local authority on such things, begs to differ. He reckons the TFC stands for ‘Torlundy Forestry Commission’ where Terry works.
How about the two retired ladies, in their early 60s, who travelled to Fort William on their first caravan holiday. They arrived at the caravan park desperate for a cup of tea. Just as the kettle was about boiling, the gas ran out. They went to see about a replacement gas bottle. Got it. Came back. ‘What did you do with the matches’? asked one. Her travelling companion didn’t know. They decided to go into town and get matches along with a few other messages. Got back and scrubbed the idea of having a cup of tea. Opted for beans on toast. Couldn’t find the tin opener. Sought diligently till they found it. But they could not get it to work. Meanwhile, the toast popped up but it set off the smoke alarm. Toast burnt. Supper abandoned. Settled for a bar of chocolate apiece. We’ll continue, a wee bit, with their saga. Next morning our two heroines opted for an away day to Mallaig. Off they went along the Road to the Isles. On the way back, the one who lost the matches was navigating. ‘I’m sure we turn right, here,’ she said. Her pal did just that. At Lochailort, down the ‘New Road’ they sallied, and had an unscheduled trip to Ardnamurchan. By the time they returned to Fort William they both agreed there would be no cooking that evening. Fortunately they got a late night meal in Fort William. It was there they regaled staff as to their exploits. And the staff told me.
The big guns in Highland Region’s planning committee came down from Inverness, Ross-shire and Caithness – you name it – to decide the future of An Aird. My usual view of ‘democracy in action’ is, of course, from the press table in Lochaber House. So it was enlightening to watch elected members at work, sitting in the hall at St Mary’s primary – one of the Lochaber schools likely to figure in the council’s ‘consultation to close’ list. My abiding impression is they had all made up their minds as to the outcome before they left Inverness, Ross-shire and Caithness. After the seemingly tiring walk around An Aird, it was noticeable one high ranker nodded off in the hall. During the meeting another councillor was observed to be reading an Agatha Christie paperback. The thriller, perhaps appropriately as it was on school premises, was screened by the pupils’ time-honoured ruse of hiding it among other official reading material. Meanwhile there was a lot of examination of watches, shuffling of papers and paperbacks, rustling of coats, picking up of handbags and meaningful clearing of throats as councillors looked pointedly at the exit. Then they were gone, aboard their specially hired coach, back to Inverness, Caithness and Ross-shire.