I needed somewhere to enjoy my balmoral in comfort so while you wasted your day wondering how to get out of town before the storm, I was invested as Laird, Toad of Dunans Castle (Glendaruel, Argyll Scotland). No longer need I rely upon my beloved son in laws family's good nature to assure my teeny bit of Scots ancestry. I'm a landowner, a Laird, likely eventually a tax payer, my sons conscripts of the homeland of Bobby Burns.
It's not my fault our new family castle burned the day before my 1st wedding anniversary, and lies now in ruin. I had pleaded with Fergus to forgo mains electric, but no. Retainers feel they know best. Mercifully, the cellar was saved.
Being Laird of the Manor comes with any number of pleasantries. Use of this catchy stationary.
A Lairdship certificate, suitable for framing, and impressive title when making dinner reservations on date night Friday.
Fishing rights.
Most importantly use of the estate tartan,
and estate tweed, as soon as I design it.
If you are in the neighborhood drop in, as long as you don't mind the taste of burnt cork.
Laird Toad
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