Domus Dulcis Domus


I would have to say that her somewhat plebicolar demeanour appealed to me immediately as she leaned back in a contented pose opposite and nibbled nonchalantly on a rosewood toothpick. Not for the first time I felt the soft gentleness of her smooth toes as they left their demure position encased in an expensive high heel and played a mischievous pizzicato upon my leg. I hesitated briefly before ordering another bottle of the sumptuous house red and gestured to the florid waiter to wrap my second T- bone without even the slightest glimmer of shame. He gave me a knowing smile. I gave him a large tip.

"Shall we go home?", she said.

I'm pretty sure that if I trawled back through the still cloudy tumbled gardeviance of my thoughts at the dinner table that evening, I would no doubt have realised that she meant the five kilometres back to our hilltop nidifice. However, never really being a huge devotee of the aquabib fraternity, the clouds that were normally white were more fluffy and opalescent than usual, undoubtedly due to the stiffness of the local grape.

Thirty-six hours later we found ourselves seated at our favourite table in the small backwaters of Gartocharn, the hurriedly packed suitcases still languishing on the back seat of the car. The pitiful foppotee at the door had been quietly, but quickly informed that we were long-standing regulars and no, the small table by the window would not suffice. Before the second complimentary bottle had been uncorked, the delicious waft of roasted grass fed beef fluttered gently across the low beamed room and filled my senses with fond cuisine memories of home. In the corner sat Michael O'Shea, excutient with the rain still sliding from his auld coat. He brought out his ancient fiddle, winked in our direction and began a melody that only a true Glaswegian could ever understand. Somewhere in the background I heard the oaken clock groan and shudder as the hour of eight came and went.

"Tis the sun you have about you this very day sir", said the young waitress as she created a delicious moat of thick fragrant red shallot gravy around the heaped mound of fresh garlic mash. "Are you in yourselves for a quick visit to the west coast of Scotland, or do you think you might want to stay on and see the sights some more?"

I looked across the table at Siobhan and smiled. It went without saying the answer to that particular question.


  1. Well that's quite a soothing look you've brought to the place. However, it's not "home" until you stick your head in the door to offer that friendly invitation of, "Dinner is served", with a smile and a wink.

    Glad to hear from you. It's been too quiet around here. :)

  2. What a beautiful revamp! Nice work. Who's your taylor? How long have you been back, sir? That first pic is a beautiful mountain of heaven. Who in their right mind would reject meat from their diet?

    I had to double-click on "nidifice" so that the Cambridge Dictionary could tell me what it means. That's a very clever pop-up device you employ. You're the master of your domain.

  3. Crikey.... Welcome home!
    In your absence Mr Cheen has been making lewd with your nipples...


  4. 'Tis about time you returned, Chef!

    I'd already sent out the search party; and now I'll have to call them back in. However, I do understand your missing in action...if you were hiding out at that magnificent creation in your header; how could you be blamed?!

    I'd be forever missing if I found myself there...I'm drowning in its beauty and wonder as I write..........don't send out a posse...I'm okay....

  5. You've been missed.... any chance of a pint us fecker?

  6. Ah yes, there's no place like home... But then again, as per Dr. Emilio Lizardo in The Adventures of Buckaroo Banzai Across the 8th Dimension, "Home is where you wear your hat." So home can be anywhere you want it to be that feels right.

    That gorgeous piece of meat looks delectable.

  7. Tis a fine thing to get your T-bone expertly wrapped.... Welcome home.

  8. My thanks to all for the comments, forgive me if I haven't put them all up yet, but filtering the shite from the gold takes precious time that I currently haven't got. Back in Glasgow at the back of September, keep up the good work and above all else, keep the faith.


Thank you, the chef is currently preparing an answer for you in the kitchen. Do help yourself to more bread.