Ach Bitter End, you were just not trying hard enough to hear the stramash, you should have set your alarm clock and crossed the stepping stones and walked a mile to the East and homed in on the flickering embers. It was there for all to see and hear, worse than the goat slaughterers of the 1970s, with a combination of horses heads and mare's tail wigs, dancing and hugging with aggression.
The poor laird obviously wasn't able to sleep with his windows open and he was maybe very angry that the sales particulars for Tumbledoon had only mentioned the Tartan Lads and Lasses, the Landrover Rogering and the Beachcombers. It all seemed Tickety Boo on the face of it, but it turned out that they were all just extras in the show and the Mains stars were a bevy of Bochans who like to party at least three or four times a year and sometimes within eye sight and earshot of his beloved machir, weather permitting of course. What a nightmare for the soul, it's even been suggested that they are frightening prehistoric Jeans out the burn!