The farmer and his wife

D inah was not a Christmas cook. Her ...

IT was about nine o’clock on a Friday night when we heard a vehicle pull up in the yard. You couldn’t miss it. I think it must have had a hole in its exhaust! Jip let the world know we had visitors. T

Betty Middleton had only moved in two weeks earlier, but already she was starting to annoy me with her frequent knocks at my back door. “Would you like a slice of my lemon drizzle? It’s home-made!” No

FAR MORE THAN DISHES THAT WORK TOGETHER, A MENU SETS THE STAGE FOR DINNERS WITH FRIENDS – OR SO SAYS DIANA HENRY

SHORTLY after we were married, a farmer’s wife from near Lanark rang Anne and asked if I was going to the sheep sales there that year. I was, so she persuaded Anne to come with me and stay the night w

Our columnist fondly recalls her childhood Christmases – apart from the time the milk ran out!