up above the clouds so high...
There's a bit of a strange temperature inversion over the Feugh valley this morning, with the result that there is a narrow band of cloud hanging over the village. From where we live, the cloud layer is more or less level with the downstairs windows, so it is possible to look underneath and see the fields, and hear the distant rumblings of another shoot (possibly a tad insensitive on Armistice Day*). From the back of the house and upstairs, you can see over the clouds, and have a view of the hills and the mountains, although there is higher cloud layer obscuring the peaks.
Yesterday I had cause to visit Ballater, in the heart of the tartan and stout walking boots zone, and as I drove back along beside the Dee, I was intrigued by the gathering mist, which collected over the surface of the running water and flowed like a second river. I assume that this is because the river was marginally warmer than the surrounding air, it has got very cold at night, down to -7 degrees for a couple of nights, and the temperature drops very swiftly when it does.
With a perspicacity I wouldn't expect, when I looked out of the kitchen window just now, in the stubble field that currently adjoins one side of our house, I saw a steady stream of pheasants running uphill, away from the guns. I'm wondering if this is a beneficial side effect of hanging out with our neighbours free-ranging chickens, or if it's because, a couple of days ago, I put out a bag of six year old porage oats for them to eat. The prospect of an intelligent pheasant is a little troubling to me. We went to Huntly for the farmers market this weekend, and on our way back as we passed along a back road a large hand painted sign screamed; 'beware of pheasants!' perhaps this is what they meant.
*They did stop shooting at the appropriate moment, allowing a Deer to break cover from behind them and run to safety (not that they would have taken a pot shot at it, but it wasn't to know that, the deer round here are almost as suicidal as the pheasants, just do a lot more damage to the car!).
Labels: clouds, pheasants, porage
rain, rain, rain...
I suspect that rain might be a popular theme among Aberdeenshire bloggers, we had something in the region of two inches yesterday, and even from our vantage point on top of the hill we could see the already saturated fields gradually filling with water. Spare a moment of sympathy for the inhabitants of Stonehaven, filling pillowcases with sand from the beach to attempt to stay the waters. Our friends rug shop and art gallery was flooded out when the Carron burst its banks, we heard apocalyptic descriptions of paintings floating around in waist deep water. I hope that the rugs at least can be rescued.
Needless to say, on the day after, the sun is shining brightly and the waters are receding.
Labels: water
night clubbing...
I have now returned from the delights of Glasgow to the relative calm of Deeside, the last couple of days before I came back I was staying with one of my cousins, and she in turn was visited by her youngest sister. Said youngest sister's current boyfriend has a brother who lives in Turriff (North Aberdeenshire), and they had gone to visit him a few weeks back. Anyone who knows that part of the county will be aware that other than on a friday night, it isn't the liveliest of places, so you can imagine my surprise and faint incredulity when she told me that they had gone out to a nightclub.
Said institution is apparently in some sort of barn in the middle of nowhere, and judging by her description, is veering towards the unsophisticated. However, and this is the critical point, she was pleased and delighted, on arrival, to be offered a plate of stovies*. Truly this is an aberdonian interpretation of a night out.
*Stovies are a mixture mostly of cooked meat, potato and stock, cooked on the stove, there are many recipes and variations, google can enlighten you further, if you need it...
Labels: night clubs, stovies
death of china
There's a definite sadness when you kill your favourite mug, if you scroll back to the blog about kopi lewak coffee, you will see a pastoral scene: two mugs of coffee and a bowl of madeleines.
Sadly both our favourite mugs have now departed, not as a result of moving house, just the usual fumblings. The arts correspondents mug still retains its functionality, but mine is no more. There is an implicit understanding when one buys a mug from a craftsman potter, that one is buying a relatively cheap functional artwork that is likely to have limited lifespan, doesn't make one any happier when your favourite has died.
If you are looking for lovely handmade mugs, mine came from the Whichford Pottery, the arts correspondents from the craft shop at the Welsh Assembly building. Current favourite mug for me is from the Cromarty Pottery, google is your friend.
Labels: mugs, pottery
more food...
My current perambulations up and down the country do offer many hideous culinary offerings, avoid things stuffed with haggis, and above all avoid drambuie sauce! all too common in my experience. I have heard that it is possible to get a Buckfast flavoured icecream, wrong, in so many ways.
Most recent horror I encountered returned to the haggis misappropriation theme: Deep fried crispy haggis won tons, with a chilli/drambui dipping sauce, I wish I'd made it up, I've been having strange dreams ever since I encountered it. It is somewhere up in the pantheon of bad ideas alongside the baked bean pizza, and the lasagne pie. Don't get me wrong, I like haggis, I'm an enthusiastic consumer of sausages in all shapes and forms, but just because it is the national dish doesn't mean you have to eat it with everything.
Fusion food...
En passant, over on the southside of glasgow where my digs are, there is a fast food emporium offering haggis pakora. I haven't plucked* up the courage to try them, nor do I think I ever will.
*did you see what I did there?
More reports from the culinary badlands when something particularly revolting catches my eye.
les delices de Ballater?
One of the towns close to our new place is Ballater, a gateway to Royal Deeside, and consequently jammed with coaches and tartan at this time of year. It does, however, possess an excellent butcher, creator of many interesting sausages. I fear that the search for the ultimate novelty sausage is overtaking that of the pie in the affections of creative butchers up here (who can forget the Huntly Lasagne Pie?), however, I think that this time they have gone too far and have produced a pork and Irn Bru sausage.
I can only think that they have tried to combine the hangover curative properties of a fry-up and (allegedly) Irn Bru in one disgusting package, one to avoid.
Labels: sausages
