For many years, I’ve had a quiet obsession with riciarelli, which I first came across, flavoured with orange flower water, in Betty’s tea rooms in York. Betty’s only seem to sell these wee macaroon-y treats in Spring for some reason, so I had to persuade Tom (who does not need much persuading where baking is…
Read MoreCan I put away the pompom makers now? Merry Christmas, everyone!
Read MoreHello everyone – hope you are all having a lovely day, however you are spending it. We’ve just been out for a very windy walk. Let me tell you, there is a very good reason that those nineteenth century women mountaineers abandoned their skirts at the foot of the hill — the damn things act…
Read MoreI am currently completely obsessed with the knitterly potential of colourwork tubes. Here is my latest tube – which I have called the Mucklemuff. In Scots, ‘muckle’ is a sort of catch-all emphatic expression which means big, large, or much. This skater’s muff is all of these things, and its name is also a shout-out…
Read MoreA White Christmas! And time, once again, to ascend mead mountain. Does doing this more than once make it a ritual or tradition? Whatever it is, the excitement of uncovering a bottle of home-brewed mead, buried at the top of a mountain, really never goes away. This bottle had a full twelve months to mature…
Read MoreThere could only be one choice for the final door of the advent calendar — Jesus! This is Jesus’s tenth Christmas, but he is still as sprightly and daft as when he first moved in with us. For the first few years of his life, we lived in several different places, and he accepted each…
Read MoreI find the way that St Nick endlessly duplicates himself at this time of year both amusing and mildly sinister (in the way that clowns, or clones, are sinister). You just can’t move for Santas! There’s one waving at passing traffic outside Newington’s “Tree Empire”; another one greets you with a tray of mince pies…
Read More(dawn on mead mountain) To say this was the most exciting Christmas morning I’ve had since I was around six years old is no exaggeration. We arose at first light and walked all the way across Edinburgh — to ascend Mead Mountain. The streets were quiet, the air was still, and the whole city felt…
Read MoreNo peeking! Yes you! You know who you are! You said you wouldn’t look! . . . Actually, those who I’ve placed under a three-day blog embargo are good at keeping their promises, and if I don’t blog this now I probably never will. The seasonal craft wagon trundles ever onwards. Very soon, it will…
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KDD & Co 