Turnips and Eggs
by Lachie Strummer - 09:03 on 17 December 2009
I must tell you about the time ‘herself’ took the bus to Glasgow to visit her Auntie.
Along with the usual paraphernalia associated with such trips she decided to take a sack of the finest Camuscross turnips.
Things were proceeding just fine till the bus approached the Northern end of Loch Lomond. It’s a very winding road.
Somewhere between Inverarnan and Ardlui the sack fell over and a mass breakout of turnips ensued!
Those passengers roundabout did their best to recapture the newly liberated Brassicas.
The problem was that with every twist and turn the bus made turnips would roll down the aisle and disappear below seats just as quickly.
By the time she was ready to disembark, about 2 miles beyond Anniesland Cross, ‘herself’ and the entire complement of passengers (and the driver) had recaptured the vast majority of turnips but to this day she reckons that 2 or 3 have never been accounted for.
The hens continue to lay well despite the short days.
There’s nothing quite like having your own eggs to eat.
They really sit up in the pan when you fry them.
When I say ‘sit up’ I don’t mean as if they’re on a chair - that would be silly- I just mean they don’t ‘squish out’ all over the frying pan.
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