If you are wondering where the girdle scones are in the title photo, they are in the tummies of the two mini-Vikings. We went the short distance to Blackness Castle for a picnic and they had girdle scones filled with ham and cheese. It was definitely a top girdle scone award according to them. 

One of our mini-Vikings was born in Norway and is super proud of that. The other minnier-Viking was born in England and is super proud of that. As they read the information boards the miniest-Viking became troubled by the realisation that this castle, which she loved, had spent a lot of time under attack by the English. She is half Scottish but we could see that she was seriously conflicted. Quite tricky for a five year old. Mind you, us older ones weren’t too happy about Oliver Cromwell wrecking it in 1650 either. All that was completely forgotten, however, when the picnic was produced.

Fussy pigeons

Anyway lets go back to the beginning. Since we have been expanding reader’s sconological education with traditional oven scones and more recently drop scones and tattie scones, Pat thought she should have a go at girdle scones. The last time she tried them was when we were first married and living in a first floor flat in Edinburgh. We always put our stale bread out on the window sill for the birds. When the girdle scones didn’t turn out too well we put them out as well. Not even the pigeons would take them. This memory was still vivid as she launched into this second attempt.

Happily, years of baking experience meant there was a much happier outcome this time around. If they look a bit like tatties scones that’s because they are quite similar except, of course, there are no potatoes in girdle scones and there is a little baking powder to make them rise.

Many years ago, when I was a mere sapling of a student, I worked as a labourer in the oil refinery at Grangemouth during college holidays. Every morning a truck would pick me up in Falkirk High Street. It had a tin hut thing on the back. There was no door but inside there were wooden benches running down each side. A little bit later the truck would stop at a model lodging house where a squad of Irish navvies would climb on board and join me in the hut. These guys regarded puny students as fair game so I probably got more than my fair share of ragging but really, they were the salt of the earth.

A singular woman

I tell you this simply because the lodging house had a woman who came in and made the men their packed lunches. I’ll never forget it because every day it was exactly the same. They all had a full girdle scone filled with great slabs of red cheddar cheese. For all the months I worked there I never saw them eat anything else. Suffice to say that Pat’s second attempt at girdle scones was much much better than the first.

A mystery 

In spite of the delicate nature of Anglo/Scot relations our visit to Blackness was great fun. But it highlighted an ongoing problem that we were totally unable to resolve. How to get the miniest-Viking to wear a jacket in a way that covered more than just her forearms?

If anyone has any suggestions we would be delighted to hear them.

Just as Scotland enters a phase where it has its best ever chance of achieving the same respect that all independent nations take for granted, it is beset by a scandal. It revolves around personalities and technicalities of who said what to who, where and when. No bearing whatsoever on Scotland’s case for independence but with the media in a feeding frenzy, it undoubtedly will.  Fingers crossed good sense prevails.