When I was a child, pancake day was all about the sprinkles. My mam would usually make them for pudding, a plate of gently steaming pancakes, a tub of vanilla ice cream, Treat! strawberry syrup and whatever sprinkles the baking cupboard yielded set in the middle of the table. My sister would usually choose Nutella to…
Routine is an unexpected comfort in life. The way the downstairs neighbour’s dog barks as soon as the postman rounds the corner. How the kettle rumbles in a low baritone just seconds before the boil and that two teaspoons of sugar go in one cup and two teaspoons of coffee go in both to transform bleary…
As a child, I had the inside scoop on the newest and most exciting additions to the school dinner menu. I knew which days ice-burned blocks of ice cream would be forced into square sugar cones as a treat. If you were last in line on burger day, you knew you’d be forced to carry…
A couple of days after Christmas, when the presents had been opened, prosecco doused with Edinburgh Gin and the turkey and all it’s leftovers consumed, Chris and I went to Edinburgh. We had run out of time to go to the market as we usually do each year before the 25th, when arguably it is…