Lang may yer lum reek

On the day that the world might have ended, if the Mayans were to be believed, or some catastrophic event might have radically reconfigured the world as we know it, we appear to have survived to look forward to another Christmas. Only a few present wrapping days before all that expensive gold paper and unsticky tape are ripped to shreds to access hoped-for goodies.

Christmas has now become such a commercial bonanza dominating autumn and winter with its aftermath trickling towards spring, that it is hard to believe that when I was young Christmas was not even a holiday. My father, like most other Scots, worked on Christmas day, and instead we celebrated New Year – Hogmanay still chiming with significance here, as the Edinburgh celebrations testify.

From the window – the snow we had a couple of years ago

Nor was turkey on the menu, that arrived later. Even chickens were less than plentiful, and expensive. I can’t now remember what we ate on Christmas day, probably nothing special. At New Year we had steak pie. Many butcher shops here still stock up on steak pies at that time of year. And so that she wasn’t caught out, unable to feed unexpected visitors, my mother always bought a large piece of ham as well.

My mother always made her own steak pie with the expensive meat generously supplemented by much cheaper kidney to eek it out. My mouth can still delight in the remembered light, flaky texture of the pastry, and the squishy underside where it met the thickened gravy. The steak pie was followed by trifle, proper Scots trifle, none of the masquerading jelly stuff, but cake soaked in sherry, spread with raspberry jam, layered with fruit, covered in proper egg custard and smothered in whipped cream, with a sprinkling of grated chocolate and decorated with glace cherries. A hearty meal suited to our hearty climate.

The copper of beech leaves adds colour to the winter snow.

Occasionally we had white Christmases and New Years, but if there is one thing you can be sure of in Scotland, it’s that you can’t rely on the weather no matter how sophisticated forecasting has become.

A partridge, not in a pear tree, but perched on a fence

Yes, I’m referring to you… An owl sizes us up.

I was hoping to include a photo of the Christmas tree at the well in the village, but a spell of wet and windy weather in which darkness only recedes to provide a half light, has meant a change of plan. So instead I’m including some photos from times around Christmas in previous years. The one exuding sun and warmth seems especially appealing on this day of torrential rain and wind.

Sunset paints the snowy fields pink

Christmas tree in Tavira, Portugal

A very merry Christmas to everyone and lang may yer lum reek.

A Christmas card scene to wish you a great time

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