More Roamerisms from the early 1990s
It was a town holiday on Monday so, right away, there were problems. For example, the scheduled meeting in Lochaber House of the divisional planning committee took place, after some head scratching, in the Alexandra Hotel. Somehow, clerks to the public holidays sub-committee of the district council and the clerks who serve the planning committee on an agency basis, contrived to make a right brochan of it all. Councillors on the committee had tried to get into Lochaber House, but the doors of the chambers wouldn’t open. Facilities in the Alex were first class, however, especially for the press. But the sting was very much in ‘the tale’ because, in the meantime, a team of engineers from Inverness had tried to storm Lochaber House to sort the heating, which had broken down the previous Friday. They didn’t know it was a sort of town holiday.
Malkie Morrison’s coupon came up at the weekend. He showed the resultant cheque to several colleagues, all the while keeping his thumb over the total amount. So everyone trooped into the nearest Lochside hostelry to celebrate. Their ranks were strengthened by some peninsula punters returning from the tup sale at Corpach. With a flourish, Malky proffered the cheque across the bar. ‘Take drinks for the boys out of that till the money is exhausted,’ said Malky. ‘And then I’ll pay you the amount in cash. I’ll have a half and a half pint to start it off.’ There was a mad rush after that. But all the other punters got was a communal bag of crisps before the barman called ‘time’ on Malky’s winnings. Aye, Malky had got £2.40 for his 22 points on Vernons.
There was great hilarity at the mart on Friday. Mallaig sheep were on the menu – sorry, on the stocks. Now the Seagull City breed can do things ordinary sheep cannot. Like open gates and doors, wait in shelters for buses, push prams along the pavements, conduct traffic from the Mallaig roundabout and generally disport themselves as befits those with the Freedom of Mallaig.
Had a wee smile to myself when I read the minutes of Spean Bridge, Roy Bridge and Achnacarry Community Council’s latest meeting. ‘The aluminium level in the water supply in Achnacarry was raised by a member,’ one of the items read. A bit like the report in the local press a few years back which advised that: ‘Prior to a meeting of the police safety committee, a council delegate raised the accident rate.’
Nevis Bridge was finally stormed by the Tarmac brigade 10 days after the road surface had been left with contours similar to a moonscape. We had all bumped and thumped that stretch, musing it wasn’t a lot of fun. However, it was considerably more less laughable on Monday. The roads gang moved in at first light. For some reason there was absolutely no direction in the way the tarring contract was being carried out. Sorry, technically, that’s wrong. There was one direction. If you happened to be travelling north over Nevis Bridge you were all right. But if you had designs on reaching town – tough! Which explains the phone calls to Highland Region, the police and this office from an incensed cross-section of the motoring public whose universal cry was: ‘It’s taken us an hour to drive from Lochy Bridge to Fort William.’ The end results were broken appointments at the Belford and at doctors’ and dentists’ surgeries, missed connections, pupils late for school and taxis and buses stranded. There was no traffic management. Someone wants to advise our ‘authorities’ it’s busy all year in and around Fort William, not just in the summer. And, wait for it, all the council’s roads officials were attending an all-day meeting on Monday - in Inverness, of course.
Neeny Ross’ portable radio was playing up. Neeny had a go at fixing it on Saturday but gave up for the more rewarding pursuit of watching Fort William FC playing and winning at Claggan Park. However, at home, in the early hours of Sunday, came unexplained sounds from the living room. The bold Neeny crept downstairs, opened the door and there on the sideboard was the radio going full blast – with the voice of a newsreader giving out the previous day’s football results on the BBC World Service. Apparently, Neeny has now dumped his radio. So if any of you hear music or voices in the dead of night emanating from Brackletter dump, it’s okay. It’ll be Neeny Ross’ radio come to life again.
A piper was playing at the top of Station Brae, across from the Grand Hotel which had its windows open during the Rotary Club of Lochaber’s weekly meeting. The club president betook himself across the street while the pipes were blasting out. ‘What’s that you’re playing?’ he enquired. ‘Within a mile o’ Edinburgh Town’, came the somewhat hesitant reply. ‘Well,’ said the Rotarian, ‘You’re no’ within 100 miles of it so maybe you wouldn’t mind moving a bit nearer the capital?’