THE bard of Tomatin, Donnie MacAskill, has put pen to paper once again in the long-running saga of the overtaking lanes on the A9 at Moy.
His latest offering is called "Traffic Cone Blues".
I'm not a happy traffic cone,
I think I'm going to cry.
We have all been given notice
on the 2+1 at Moy.
The Highwaymen have spoken
with predictable contempt.
They will fix the Lynebeg turn-off
with loads of magic paint.
No hint of an apology
for the dangerous combination
of speeding up the traffic
before the local junction.
A stack of us believe
that magic paint won't do.
To stop the traffic straying
they'll be needing super glue.
We've guarded this fiasco
for seven months or more.
And we really should remain
until it's properly secure.
We here on the 10th floor have to say that we are starting to tire of this long-running saga so we hope it will soon be resolved.
Of course we also hope to continue to have other topics from the bard although we fear that there will be more to be said on this subject before it is finally laid to rest.
Somehow we lack that essential confidence that this time the Highwaymen will get it right.
Waiting for a sign
STAYING with the theme of roads for a moment, one of our sharp eyed moles recently advised us that a sign has appeared in paint on the road outside the Carrbridge Hotel.
It reads "Drop Of and Pick Up", presumably it is intended to read "Drop Off and Pick Up". Exactly what one gets a drop of whilst waiting to be picked up we are at this moment unclear.
However, we are more than willing to hang around outside the location and find out.
Army buddy to biker's rescue
LOCAL grass-cutter and ex-Army bomb disposal expert Peter Philpott is also famed for his mid-life-crisis motorbike affiliations.
Like many men of a certain age, Peter has taken to biking with some enthusiasm and a soupon of joie de vivre. Luckily, he stopped short of having a pony tail, but he did grow an un-military looking beard.
With the Harley-Davidson rally on in Aviemore, Peter quickly took himself off on his bike to France with his wife, Sue - or 'Bob' as she is known to the male-only golfing colleagues - presumably so that odious size comparisons would not be made (of the bike kind).
Half-way to Hull he found he had some leaking fluid, so stopped at the first village where there chanced to be a motorcycle shop that diagnosed his problem as a cracked brake pipe.
The mechanic said he could get one in four days, but as Peter was heading for a booked ferry that wouldn't do.
After a moment's thought the mechanic told Peter that there was a man in the next village who had a bike the same as his for sale, so he might sell him it.
Peter went to the address in some trepidation, not wanting to have two bikes on his payroll. He needn't have worried. When the door opened the bike owner said: "You're Peter Philpott, we were in the same regiment".
Thus all was sweetness and light. He was given the bike, which he took to the bike shop, switched the pipes, then left enough money for the replacement and repair.
Most of us would come unstuck in that situation, but trust Philpott to come up smelling of roses.
The humble spoon can fix our ills
IT WAS a close call, and we two were never really sure that anyone would come up with a solution to the chronic state of the country.
There is increasing youth unemployment seemingly turning an entire generation into bitter and twisted souls bent on civil unrest, while global warming threatens to turn the world into the equivalent of a Christmas tangerine neglected until May.
Meanwhile, the financial sector seems to be in a plummeting spiral beyond control, with bankers and other fat cats lapping up the cream as we minions survive on red top; power prices are on the increase, and the spectre of giant wind farms circles the park in ever decreasing circles.
Cue an atmospheric shot of we two on a windswept hillside, Bonnie Tyler's "Holding out for a hero" as the soundtrack, just as the music reaches the crescendo and we look at our most brooding, up steps the saviour of the day with the answer to all our ills.
The Cairngorms National Park Authority are promoting a "spoon-making' course.
Why, and we demand an answer, has this most essential of skills been overlooked? Clearly with a vigorous programme of spoon manufacture training underway, it's only a matter of time before a vibrant new industry is born.
How could the economists of the world have been so misguided as to not realise that spoon-making could well be the next technological revolution.
Wooden Tom, who is running the course, advises potential spoon sculptors to bring warm clothes and a spot of food.
As there's no mention of dining facilities presumably there's a certain amount of tension on the day to get your spoon finished in time for lunch.
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