Looking east along Glen Trool
Normally when we are in Glen Trool we are heading along the glen to walk the hills at the east end. Not today, and that was a great idea because we ended up with a 5-star walk (and they are pretty rare). There was no real plan other than trying to do a bit of the Southern Upland Way at the west end of the glen and add on stuff that looked promising: one of those nice “Where does that path go?” days. Let’s just say the route was very roughly a figure-of-8 centred around the visitor centre at Glen Trool . Continue reading
With the distaff side giving my credit card a thorough workout in the “sales”, I was left to fend for myself. So I had a browse of the freezer and found a nice piece of venison that a parent gave me for fixing her laptop . Not just any venison, though. No, this was locally dispatched Roe Deer, so the provenance was first-class . So what to do? Well, a quick chat with Mr. Google and my good friend and TV food-pedlar Nick Nairn came up with something that could be adapted to my particular, exacting tastes.
So a great casserole that let this great piece of meat braise nicely for a couple of hours in that bottle of red a relative brought at Christmas that you wouldn’t want to ingest, let alone get on your skin. Naturally, Nick was aiming for the popular market and needed a bit of enhancement: so in with the Scotch Bonnet chillis and some butter beans . And despite my best efforts there is some left over for the freezer and more flatulent fun in the New Year.
And on that happy image, I’ll sign off and wish you a Happy New Year. Give your boots a nice clean because we’ll be off as soon as we see the sun (let’s say, April).
Coliemore Harbour and Dalkey Island
This weekend is a late summer family break in Dublin. Her Jazzness is in kennels for a few days for some singing practise with her friends as Ryanair have this weird no-dogs policy (among many others).
We are staying in Dalkey (where the plague arrived in Ireland, apparently) at the south end of Dublin Bay. This is a picturesque village on the edge of Dublin where, judging by the size of the houses, the richer Dubliner resides. For a country on the verge of financial meltdown they are putting on a very good front: unless everyone’s sitting behind their electric gates crying into their mortgage statements and flinching when you say “negative equity”. Continue reading