Pictorial blethers

By blethers

Seasonal rituals (continued)

One thing I realise when we come home after a stay away is how much more I notice the weather. From the first moments looking out of the rain-spattered window, wondering if it is actually going to get any lighter, to the swift estimation of whether it's wetter or colder in terms of outer garments, to the realisation that the wind's getting up because there's a sudden howling in the chimney ... We're home, all right,

One of the rites of recent years has been the trip to fetch a piece of venison fillet for dinner on Hogmanay. Today we had to delay our drive up the glen until I'd been for an appointment at the hospital with the physio; she declared herself happy with what I was doing and how I felt about progress and asked if I agreed she should discharge me. Then it was back into the car and up Glen Lean, then off via a forestry track to the house and warehouse of Winston Churchill (Venison) (yes - that's his name. I told you already...) This time, because the shop was actually shut for the holiday, it was the owner himself who was waiting for us, so we had a pleasant chat before we headed off for a quick walk in the glen, still surrounded by snowy tops, before lunch. 

Lunch was, disgracefully, a big piece of my Christmas cake; I've not really been able to enjoy it properly so far because I've been too full of other food. I think it may be my best in 48 years, largely because of Extra Sherry. (I thought the dried fruit seemed too dry ...) Then Himself, cough or no, went off to practice the organ in the freezing church (of course he did) and I caught up on a couple of phone calls before making a pot of brandy butter and doing my Italian. (Did I mention? - I've paid for the Super Duolingo because (a) there was a 60% reduction on offer and (b) I'm fed up losing hearts on the phone version and having to desist.)

We had a disgracefully easy dinner of ravioli with a half jar of pesto and a handful of sautéed mushrooms and collapsed over the telly as if we'd walked miles. 

Blipping the cheering flowers my d-in-l bought when we were shopping to send me home with (as Munroist says, she spoils me rotten) with an extra - my final extra of the year - of a collage showing our venison hunt glen. 

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