Neep palaver

I love turnip,” declares a Perth reader,” especially with stews, mince, steak pie and, of course, haggis.

“Unfortunately, the lady of the house does not. If I want turnip, I have to buy it, skin it, chop it up into small pieces and place it in a pot of water with the right amount of salt, ready for my wife to cook it along with the rest of the meal.

“The other day, I worked out just how much time and effort this involved. As it was wet and cold outside, I had to don scarf, cap and rubber shoes. I also had to fetch a travelling rug to sit on because the garden chair I use was wet.

“I then had to remove the plastic covering encasing the neep with scissors, which also had to be fetched from their niche in the kitchen. Then I needed a tray and a cleaver.

“Once all was gathered together at the back door, I had to do battle with the damp-jammed door to open it, before transporting everything down three steep steps onto the patio.

“I set my stall out, with rug on chair and tray to one side, before I began my onslaught on the turnip. I never seem to get my aim straight and end up with slivers of neep all over the patio.

“Once the turnip was split, everything had to be done in reverse, then the chopping board came out while I transferred to a large knife for the final reduction of the turnip to small portions.

“Pieces of skin deposited in bin, turnip consigned to a large pot of water with salt added, lid found for pot, tools restored to their rightful places and I could announce to my wife: ‘Turnip’s done, already salted.’

“What a palaver! All that effort and half-an-hour of my time! All for a neep! Was it really worth it?”

“This wee robin was puffing out his feathers to keep warm at Morton Lochs in Tentsmuir forest,” says Eric Niven.