There is a moment in Cast of a Lifetime when the author, Andrew McLaren Jenkins, and his travelling companion, David Kilpatrick, meet an itinerant Irishman on a train in Canada.
WE had to keep him waiting for 40 minutes because the real purpose of the Borders visit was not so much to see how the aristocracy keep warm, although that fitted in quite well, but to fish Tweed, as you must say. Never the Tweed, but Tweed. (Don't ask. It's code. One of those things like hunting coats being "pink" not red.)
I WENT THE OTHER DAY TO Novar, which is across the Cromarty Firth near Evanton and where over the years, but particularly during the last seven or so, they have developed a very nifty operation with the partridges, not to mention the duck, the woodcock and the pheasants.
Without the annual cull, deer numbers would get out of hand. But even in death, the majestic Monarch of the Glen inspires the deepest respect
Crumpet is now five months old and I am beginning to feel we are reaching a critical point in our relationship.
I CANNOT imagine that beavers are much fun to hunt with hounds, otherwise someone would have done it. There are not, as far as I know, any 18th-century prints of Canadians in top hats and snow shoes pursuing beavers through the boondocks.
My son produced a girlfriend the other day who was, rather improbably, called Sizzle. There was much speculation about how she had acquired such a name and what it could be short for (I think Cecilia was the best bet) but in the end it turned out she had been born Sizzle, although I find it hard to believe. I disgraced myself by chanting the children's bath-time ditty:
They used to serve lieu at Petit Paris in Edinburgh's Grassmarket. When we first spotted it on the menu I grandly pronounced it to be plaice, which was pretty silly.
BEFORE WE WENT TO THE WEDDING IN Herefordshire I looked up "Wye: record fish" in Fred Buller's Domesday Book of Giant Salmon.
WE HAVE BEEN TO SPAIN, where they eat more fish than any other nation in Europe – most of it ours, if you take a pre-EU view of fishing rights and 12-mile limits.
Wildlife is caught in the middle as opposing forces prepare for the 'Glorious 12th', writes SHÂN ROSS
RSPB be damned. Where's my gun?