Wel­come

Scottish Field - - WELCOME - Richard Bath, Ed­i­tor

It’s that time of year again. You know, the one where we be­gin to look se­ri­ously for presents for loved ones, start ar­gu­ing about where we’ll spend the fes­tive sea­son, ner­vously check the state of our credit cards and try to get all of our work fin­ished in time.

I love the ex­cess that ac­com­pa­nies this time of year, al­though not all Christ­mas tra­di­tions are to my lik­ing. In par­tic­u­lar, I hate the mo­ment when the flammable Christ­mas jumper is dug out for an en­forced day of jol­lity with work­mates (I hate the bloody things so much that ev­ery year I get fined for fail­ing to wear one on the des­ig­nated day of cheer).

I know the fes­tive sea­son is upon us when we start work­ing on this Christ­mas is­sue. For a start, we find our­selves stag­ing a hu­mon­gous food shoot in some far-flung lo­ca­tion, and then there are all the in­te­ri­ors shoots in which peo­ple have to get their Hog­manay-ready house pre­pared months early.

This year, our food shoot was one of the best we’ve ever done. Chef Scott Smith came along and cooked us a wild Christ­mas meal which in­cluded boar, goat, mulled cider and chest­nut strudel, and it was as de­li­cious as it sounds. Those smiles you see if you read the end re­sult are not put on, but rather the re­sult of an early dose of good food and cheer. (I have to con­fess we also over­sam­pled the fine wines pro­filed in my ex­pert col­league Peter Ranscombe’s fes­tive wine guide).

So write to us and let us know what you’re plan­ning to do for Christ­mas. Re­lay your dis­as­ters, burnt meals, fam­ily squab­bles, rub­bish presents. They are all part of any au­then­tic Christ­mas...

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