Our luscious Spaniard is moving along…..

Tomorrow we part with Otter or Terry or just the gorgeous shiny boy.
The bendy banana from Spain is moving on and up – up to Aberdeen. Though he has been with us less then a month he leaves with a piece of each of our hearts.


Terry Never Looks Back.

Padding round the house he gets involved with everything, picking up a sock and carrying through to the middle the room, eating a little bite of kindling when setting the fire. If not Terry, or Otter or Paddy – the perfect name would have been “shadow” as he is never more than half a step behind – filling the washing machine he’s there, making a cup of coffee – hello! guess who is eyeballing and wagging, cooking, yes he likes to get involved there too.

When undressing at night he may wander off with a sock, take it for a wee tour round the living room, then deliver it back. Showering in the morning he will sit outside the bathroom and wait, rewarding you with a huge bright smile as you emerge deeply depressed at having seen your reflection in the full length mirror.
He is a joyful hound.

Every moment of every day he engages fully with every little thing. He is grateful to be alive and savouring every moment.
A life lesson for us all.
Even writing this I have tears in my eyes and that feeling in my gut. Tomorrow will be hard. Hard for us to say goodbye, I just don’t want him to feel our affection has been insincere in any way. It’s because we love the daft crater we are parting with him and we are happy knowing the joy he will bring to his forever family – though I will have large g&t and a bubble when I return home without his cheeky chops and watch out sausage dog Charlie Chorizo  you will be cuddled ’til you squirm.

Hide me from that over affectionate sobbing woman.

Death row dog v spoilt sausage dog.

So all is settling well in the world of our new Spanish death row boy.

The battle for supremacy albeit subtle is ongoing between the sausage who has been King of the Hill for 3 years. He may be small but he has an iron will. New boy is eager to please and capitulates as a rule but there was a Clash of The Titans – entirely My fault.
I took out a ballA tennis ball which Charlie Chorizo Sausage dog loves and I threw it.
Despite the weather being cold, wet and windy naively I thought they would run about and Charlie would teach him to retrieve.
Twice Charlie got the ball. Third time Terry – Spanish hombre aka Speedy Gonzalez –  got the ball and came rushing back but didn’t understand I wanted him to drop it. So he ran off  again skidding to a halt in front of me 2nd time round  and within a second he realised he was expected to release his quarry and dropped it. He is bright. Very bright.
Sadly when he did drop it, like a petulant spoilt brat Charlie threw a wobbler.

They went at it.
The noise was worse than the result.
They rolled, lunged and snapped. It sounded like it was a fight to the death.
It wasn’t – but it was the first contretemps in the shifting status as we watch with interest who ends up being top dog.

I already realise it won’t be me.


Terry on close inspection has battle scars. He has nicks out of his ears, the bridge of his nose and tufts of shiny skin above his eyes. His hair is dull and scraggy and it looks like someone trimmed up his curly hairy face with a pair of toe nail clippers to disguise his Wooky like chops.  I look forward to watching his health and vitality emerge.



A naked dog is delivered from Spain

Sunday night 7.30pm standing at the side of the road waiting for our new Spanish hairy parcel to be delivered.

Blind date but slightly different.

If there was no spark, no “click” then like it or not he was lumbered with us and we were lumbered with him.

I can confirm this does not enter your head when you click “SAVE” on Facebook when you see a dog that is about to get put down for no reason other than no-one wants him. Sob. Wimper. Snot.

The transport up from Spain had a Messenger Group so we had been able to track their progress and enjoy the photos of other people as they scooped up their own hair deliveries the length and breadth of the country and now it was our turn.

The big white van pulled up, the paperwork was handed over to us, the side of the van slid open and  our new hairy charge“Terry” emerged in the arms of the guy who had driven him – and 25 others – up from the South of Spain dropping them off enroute one and one and two by two. The arc of mongrels.

Beagles, a German Shepherd, a few cute hairy mutts, an English setter – all death row escapees all driving home for Christmas (Cue Chris Rea  – actually don’t- I want to get on with the story -)

The unsuspecting sausage dog was all togged up and  there to meet the van too.

Advice was to walk the new and old dogs around a bit before going in. We followed instructions and watched as Terry – who was taller and longer than he looked during our brief observation online – padded along, sniffing the air with the most magnificent tail, a virtual aerial, with a wee kink on the end swooping back and forward.

God knows how long in the perrera (death row), 3 days in a kennel, 3 days in a van and still he was smiling. A born optimist. A good start.

Once in the garden we let them off the lead and Charlie the sausage, the long suffering husband and I stood and watched as Terry took off like a rocket, running in circles, swooping round, tail wagging, sniffing the grass, running fast and long and as fast as he could, skidding to a halt just before he hit the wall – literally – turning and screeching back again – joyful.

Opening the kitchen door we went in, followed by Charlie then the new boy in town.

Alpha male and female, followed by top (if not small and low slung) dog and then Terry. Following instructions learnt on YouTube from a variety of sources.

We watched as he found and slurped all the water in the dish and then padded about the place having a good look and sniff round glancing at us periodically in case we were angry, upset or liable to throw him out again.  All he saw were cheesy grins.

Thinking ahead – unlike us to be fair – we had taken the precaution of putting a gate – looks like a child gate between the kitchen and the lounge with an additional tiny gate in the middle. Our reasons were two fold.

1. If Charlie found it all a bit much  – being an only sausage up to this point – then he could slink through it and away from Terry for some peace and quiet.


2. We had no idea what Terry would do!  Chew a chair? Crap on the rug? Attack us with his rather magnificent looking teeth? We all needed to be separated if necessary.

Charlie looked a little grumpy and so to remind him had a mini get out gate like the one pictured here.  I opened it. He looked at it. Smiled. And slunk through in a pleased as punch way which was short lived as Terry – forcing his bony hairy considerably larger self into the considerably smaller aperture – he pushed his way through the tiny gate within a gate too – tada! There he was on the other side too.

I would sell him to the circus as the contortionist dog if I wasn’t already a little bit in love with him.

A cheeky optimist.

Tomorrow or first day……I will report back.




Christmas parcel – one Spanish mongrel – enroute to Scotland.

So here I go again.
Large mouth.Dog mad.
Heartbroken to see a photograph of a little hairy galoot online that was on death row in Spain because someone didn’t want him anymore. I followed the post for 2 days.
He was at the head of queue for the big nasty jab aka death and so I said “I’ll take him!”
And so ….he is on his way.

How old is he? Em…between 6 months and 12 years.
How big is he? Em…between small and huge. What’s his temperament like? Em….looks waggy but really can’t say.

Instincts having been dog mad since I was born are he looks like a gentle, hairy, cheeky mongrel with an extraordinarily waggy bahookey.. What do you think?

So his year thus far has consisted of… being chucked out from wherever he was and left in the kill station.
Then last minute reprieve sprung from death row.
The following morning off to the vet to have his bollocks removed. Ouch. What a high! What a low! What a shame. All within 24 hours. Gulp.

Next before he could draw breath and work out where the vet was that took his manhood, he was off again, this time to a foster home in Spain til his health check.

Happily he was given a clean bill of health which meant he could travel once his innoculations, rabies and passport is sorted.

And so he arrives here in Scotland on Sunday. No not the paper obviously.

From kennel, to vet, to foster carer, to kennels a 6 hour drive away as the Spanish authorities want to check he is who they say he is. So he stayed for 3 days being prodded and checked again. And now – right now as I write this he is on the pet transport with a host of other wee homelss, unloved dogs being dropped off all over England and Scotland. He will arrive here on Sunday night, it will be dark, very very cold, colder than he has ever imagined, he will be hungry, stressed, scared to death – he has no idea where he is. He arrives with no blanket, no collar, no bed, no real identity.

Suspicious. And for good reason.

And so we await. With bated breath. A new lead and collar. A TK Maxx bed tucked into a crate where he can sit and watch his new family before deciding when he wants to come out and say hello. In one corner he will see a suspicious sausage dog whose nose will be very out of joint. In another he will see a big bummed Aberdonian with a biscuit in her hand. We will report back as to how it goes…I have to confess this is a lovely Christmas parcel on it’s way….lets hope he thinks so too……


Wish us luck! It’s going to be a very Terry Christmas.



The Novel – is born – the synopsis done(ish)

So after my public declaration of determination to write this long awaited novel I can report the  book is coming on. No really it is. No bullshit. I had the whole story in my head and bit by bit I have eked and squeezed it out into a synopsis. A beginning, middle and an end. Of course each time I read it I change it a little –  but all in all the idea has emerged from the head to the laptop. A major step.

I have made a decision to stop rereading OR  I will never move on with the next step…

There are other things going on this week which inevitably encourage distraction and prevarication.

Like…..We are moving house on Friday.

Like…..David is opening a new bistro/cafe on Friday.


Just small things like that…of course the old me would have used these as excuses to do nothing on the book front,  but the new me, the swotty Fiona Bruce type me, is pushing on.

This is the point where I have fallen foul of my plan in the past. I am honestly confused with how the hell to get the idea out of my head and onto paper in any coherent form so the new me (FB see photo above) decided as a first step to download an audio book on Audible called Write Your Novel by Maggie James which I listened to driving to and from Aberdeen to visit my Mum. Oh yes add that to the weeks goings on….

Anyway it was a good listen and the 2 hours from Aberdeen to Edinburgh and back were perfect to take it in.

It turns out listening to an audio book really makes a journey go quickly -not withstanding the number of times you have to pull over to write down things  you really want to remember. By the time I arrived in Aberdeen I had a confetti of Post Its, most nigh on impossible to decipher once peeled off the dashboard.

Still there is some great advice.

First thing is first- find the best place to write.

Every place I have ever lived I have had a designated space to “write” which has never been used. The combination of a sausage dog, a student, a hyper active husband and a visiting Schnauzer (Doris) in addition to our moving home, opening a restaurant and visiting a parent in Aberdeen has made me retreat into my bed – so it seems that is my place.  My bed.

The downside – and downslide is the encroaching IT blobby hanging double chin thing changing me into the  hunch chin of Notre Maison but would that bother Fiona Bruce? Would it? No so I stare at my laptop which is on…well my lap and all this whilst trying to avoid snorkelling a large glass of white  – after all its only 11am.

mmmnnnnn t- this is not my chin – sadly.

So – this weeks update is….

I have completed my synopsis which is very satisfying. It’s about 5 pages long though and according to my new guru Maggie James ” it’s supposed to be 1 or 2 so I am squeezing it and trying to leave out superfluous details  – which is hard when you witter on as much as I do and   love a superfluous detail.

Having reread it until my eyes bled, I have sent it off to my literary genius friend who will give me feedback. Which I will in turn feedback to you. Good, bad, or bin it I promise, warts and all,  it’s coming your way after all we are in this together.

So……fingers crossed she likes it or the fantasy 11am wine will be brought forward to  9am followed by a gin martini chaser.

OK off to pack a box as the removal men are coming….……and  as for your good self –  keep writing!!!!

Charlie Sausage and Doris Schnauzer – in love.



Trying to write a novel? Me too.

I wrote a book a few years ago which was published and did rather well much to my delight and to be honest, surprise. It was an autobiographical account of becoming a Mum brought on by the shock of relinquishing my title of  the wild woman of wonga  and turning into a confused, helpless balloon in charge of the most delicious baby on the planet. It still available from some wheelbarrow on the A5 via Amazon. 

That was bloody years ago and this is not a plug for ye olde dusty tome I promise. It is to illustrate just because I churned out my diary in public it is not the same as writing writing.

Since then, I have dabbled scrabbled, noted and scrawled.  Blogged, raged, whispered, railed against the machine and done a thousand different things. But always rumbling in the pit of my heart was the belief I could one day write a novel. A book that is not about me me me. A work of fiction. And so it begins…….

I am exploring all the questions which have made up the battery of excuses as to why I haven’t done it and this time I am bloody well going to finish it. However hard. Part of that process is to be honest about my commitment to writing this elusive thing and that is why ye old blog is to reignited with a view to putting out in the ether on this very page  how I am progressing, or not. Why I am progressing or not. And how much gin I am drinking or wine.

So here goes………JULY 2017.



Meldrum House -a dog friendly, delightful destination.

I know I know I sound like a stuck record but really. This time of year in our glorious country matches and beats hands down anywhere else on the planet you could meander. In my humble opinion. On the road…the long suffering husband.. Charlie Chorizo Sausage Dog and myself.


The sausage at Meldrum House – someone shouted BISCUITS!


Originally from the North East I have been there a lot recently as I have been settling my Mum into a Care Home. She has Alzheimers and it has been a rollercoaster of a year but she has gravitated home to Aberdeen where she was born and bred.  She has lived in the Central belt for 15 years and yet the moment she stepped over the threshold of this particular home she just put her hand on my arm and said “This is where I want to live”.  So..a very very long story short..I am splitting my time to be with her and to be in Edinburgh. It’s an easy 2 hour drive and now Mum is  settled the long suffering husband, sausage dog and I decided to go away for a few days to just walk, inhale the delicious fresh air and relax.


Old Meldrum Golf Course….wow!

It’s hard to find accommodation last minute in the Aberdeen area especially at this time of year and so with a google, a wing, a prayer and a bit of pot luck we rocked up to Meldrum House, about 30 minutes outside the City on the outskirts of Old Meldrum . And well…. be still my beating heart. Its like  Disney Castle – but the real McCoy – and what  a location!

A wee something whilst we enjoyed a pre dinner bev

Privately owned it really is a very special spot indeed.

There was a wedding on  which they warned us about so we were in the main house. The weddings are in an annex and we honestly didn’t know the huge rollocking party was there.


We had a great wander about, a delicious meal and retired early to our huge bedroom where we slept like logs (or dogs in Charlies case) partly because of the giant bed but also because the vast windows were draped in the best black out curtains the world has ever seen. Fabulous.

Being an obsessive foodie it was great to find this chef knows his onions and every other item of food. Delicious food. And their smoked haddock and poached egg in the morning was a thing of beauty. Och it all was. Including the hungover wedding guests clutching their heads and gulping coffee with shaky hands – ah yes those were the days.

The staff were all lovely, chatty and informal. Despite it being mid summer or near enough a huge fire roared in the entrance hall which always makes for a warm welcome and nothing was too much trouble.

If you golf – prepare yourself – it is a beautiful course. Its not cheap to play but the hotel can arrange it all for you. I hit a bucket of balls but didn’t play – well I can’t yet! Having just had my first lesson in 20 years I am currently smitten but if the mere thought of golf repels you don’t be discouraged the gardens are like Life on Earth ….Swans and their signets, Geese and their Goslings, 2 Highland Cows and a few tourists……the full enchilada. Bliss.

Mr & Mrs Goose and their Goslings – gas and air for the poor duchess there were about 12!
Love is in the air for these two hairy galoots.

Sausage still looking for that biscuit ……Seriously refreshed and podged up with lovely food we will be back…….and soon.For now the sausage, husband and I are heading elsewhere on the hunt for more dog friendly places to stay….will keep you posted.
Oh and whatever rate you get on booking.com phone the hotel direct – you aye get the best deal that way…..Here’s their details….Meldrum House Country Hotel & Golf Course
T: +44 (0)1651 872294
F: +44 (0)1651 872464
E: enquiries@meldrumhouse.com





Confessions of a broadcaster.

So, “yer nae on the telly much anymore are you?” is a question I get asked a lot. No. I’m not. But as you know life has a habit of giving you a good boot in the bum when you least expect it. Which is exactly what happened to me. I was having a rare old time when the shit hit the fan.

You are reading a Blog written by a woman who has LAM.

OK here it is in its unshortened glory. lymphangioleiomyomatosis

No I can’t pronounce it either.

I don’t want to be health bore and go on and on about it but in  a nutshell my lungs collapsed and surgery was the only option. I did write about it for the LAMpost which is the place people with this rare and inexplicable lung disease can gather and find support. So I thought I would repost what I wrote about it here….if one person in a similar situation reads it and feels better – great. If one person reads it and can add any information or theory as to why it happens then it can only be good.

With only 200 women in the UK with this condition – and a few of them being broadcasters –  there has to be a connection and only by writing and talking about it will we potentially find out what it is.

Might as well be hung for a sheep as a LAM.

Oh and I will be writing this blog about life and how I love being able to live it with my sausage dog, friends and fun as I am a cup runneth over kind of girl once I get this off my chest – pun intended.

My Diagnosis By Alison Craig

I had a collapsed lung five years ago then nothing. It was a fast and virtually pain-free fix. The doctors quickly reinflated my lung and off I went.  I racked my brain as to why this had happened and came to the conclusion that it was because I had choked on a tangerine. After a few days of confusion, I rejoined life with gusto.

In between times I continued working on radio and TV, and enjoying life.
Then out of the blue two years later, the same lung went down and the same procedure took place in the same hospital, but then a week after that, the lung came down a third time.  This time, the doctors decided to ‘stick up’ my lung up to prevent it collapsing again. ‘Stick up’ my lung was slang for a pleurodesis. I didn’t really think about it, it was just what had to be done.   Of course, the reality of the procedure is somewhat gruelling, and not something that bears too much thought.  It involves keyhole surgery during which a camera is inserted to check the lung, repair any holes and to glue the lung to the inside of the chest cavity.

During the process, a biopsy was done as a matter course, and then I was sent home to sleep in an upright position. It transpired this wasnt’ a problem as I felt like I would never sleep again, I was so scared. After ten days, I got a call to come back to the hospital; I suspected something was up – after all I had only just returned home and was still in recovery.  My surgeon told me  I had LAM.

LAM? What on earth is that?

My first question was, ‘Is it a precursor to cancer?’ The dreaded C , the big C, the word we all dread hearing. No, I was informed, but we will want to do the same procedure on your other lung as the chances are it will also collapse when you have recovered from this op. Not what I wanted to hear when still in recovery from my first op, so I went home and concentrated on my recovery, deciding against reading anything about the condition until I was stronger.

About a week later, my other lung collapsed and whilst still weak and I was in for another pleurodesis. Double whammy.  I stopped eating as I was a clenched ball of nerves. Honestly I had been the fittest healthier most robust person up to this point. Never a cold, A flu. A chest infection. A wheeze  and now I was unable to walk upstairs and my whole life was in the balance. Only when I began to get a little stronger did I look on-line for information about LAM. That was my first mistake, and my advice to anyone reading this is do not search on-line for information about LAM. Goodness knows it’s tempting, but don’t. The hysterics, the headline grabbers, the out-of-date information that whirls around in cyberspace will do you no good at all. I know. I searched on Googled and what I found threw me into a black hole of panic and despair. “A fatal lung condition” Stress caused me to lose over two stone.  I stayed in that place in information shutdown until I met Professor Simon Johnson at Nottingham University Hospital.

My second piece of advice is ask to be referred to Simon. The day I met him, my life began again. He has made it his life’s work to study this rare condition and as a result he is the man you want to speak to. As there are so few cases in the UK there is a general ignorance about the condition. GPs, doctors, surgeons  – these people will know very little if anything about LAM so don’t listen to any of them, just listen to the man who knows and the great team at LAM Action.  Simon is the man who has the most up-to-date research and who is the voice of reason in a mire of soundbites and historical, hysterical nonsense.

There is so little known about LAM, even in medical circles, that when a patient presents with a collapsed lung or other symptoms which could be related to LAM, she is generally patched up and sent home with no further support, they way I five years ago.
So as I said, do not search for data on-line. Search engines do not update the information on treatment. Data can be out there for years misleading you, me and the next woman to be diagnosed.  It would have helped me immensely to have been handed a sheet on day one which gave the following information:

  • What is LAM in a nutshell.
  • Only women get it.
  • It is believed it maybe oesterogen-based.
  • There is a very wide spectrum of this disease from so mild a patient may never know she has it, to a more severe version.
  • Do not search on-line. (I know I say that a lot, but it is so true. If you were to read the information on the back of a bottle of Night Nurse, you would become hysterical and take it to the local police station rather than take it for a bad cold.)
  • Cherry-pick the information you need and do not immerse yourself in the minutiae – Professor Simon Johnson is there for that. Let him do the medical stuff, you concentrate on looking forward and getting on with life. I do not want you to lose two stone – an effective but unrecommended diet plan .

Until recently, doctors didn’t test for LAM so there may well be thousands of women who have it who had a collapsed lung or other symptoms and never knew what their underlying condition was.

I wish I didn’t know. The main battle with this for me is psychological as the very real questions of ‘why’ and ‘what happens now?’ cannot be answered.  You may feel very alone; I did.  It took me two years to get in touch with LAM Action in the UK and I encourage you, when you feel the time is right, to do so, too. They are great. I am trying to give you a shortcut to peace of mind about the future, though I still lie awake at night wondering was it my diet, pollution, chlorine, living in a city, living by the sea, the hair dye I use, sound studios I worked in for years, stress, bad posture… and so the list goes on until dawn, but whatever it is you and I have in common we have to try and find out what it is.

There are so few of us, the way to beat LAM once and for all is to share every piece of information. I share a lot on my blog (alisonsdiary.com) about life, the universe and everything. In fact, I am going to post this on there too – after all we are all in this together, and we women do LOVE to talk.

I hope one day you will be ready to tell your story and wish you well on your journey.
Alison Craig



Face Cream that really works? Be still my beating heart.

This woman is 67. I'm lying but read on...
This woman is 67. I’m lying but read on…

The trauma of the mirror continues to horrify on a regular basis. Inside I feel 18 and exterior wise – the swags and tails that used to adorn curtains in the 80’s have moved into my face. Dear God. It is now clear the image of the original gargoyle must have been based on an Aberdonian woman in her 50’s.  So I am at the stage where you will consider anything to fight the ravages of time. Well within reason. So earlier this year I adopted a new regime – a product called Environ.

The guy who developed it is a plastic surgeon from South Africa who noticed when he applied the cream to people recovering from surgery that their skin seemed to improve and rejuvenate. Well I didn’t need to hear that more than once – slap it on! In fact hell I will eat it if it works.


We  do love a before and after and so here it is…..


There are an array of different creams you start at Level 1 and as your skin becomes hardened (not the best word in these circumstances – lets go with accustomed) to the Vitamin A in the cream you can gradually increase the potency. ?I am now a good few months down the line withit and I swear my skin is better. Really.

I am not getting sponsored, paid or encouraged to write this but as a 50 something woman its nice to find something that seems to improve things without the aid of a knife, an anaesthetic or a balaclava.

Its nae cheap but then neither is buying every other cream every other day and slapping it on with no continuity. One set of the stuff kept me going for 4 months so it may seem dear but its an investment I am happy to make.

Every good facial involves gunge. Environ is no exception.
Every good facial involves gunge. Environ is no exception.

In addition you can indulge in anEnviron facial – the photo of which is me in full Hannibal Lecter mask – it just adds to the overall treatment and frankly afterwards I felt fresh as a daisy. I still haven’t been ID’d in the local as being potentially underage but I live in hope.

Just thought I’d share the chat – feel free to ignore it!

You do need to find a facialist who stocks Environ – in Edinburgh there are a few – Claires in Edinburgh is who puts up with me –  she is great at what she does so when you are lying around looking like a nitwit fun I do like a laugh.

This article is all about the Dr who developed it  – have a read if you fancy.

Beware you are unlikely to get a lumber wearing this.
Beware you are unlikely to get a lumber wearing this.

The Brandon at Canonmills – yum yum yum.


In the place where Cross and Corner used to live there’s now a wee bar/restaurant on that corner of Broughton Street and Eyre Place called Brandon’s of Canonmills.  A refreshing groovsters hangout with food that frankly my lips haven’t stopped smacking themselves about since we tried it.
When I say groovsters hang out clearly not just groovsters as we are about as far from the category as you can get and still be labelled human.

We are 3 middle aged woman and a sausage dog. Sounds like a film but no it’s just my life.

So just to clarify….dogs are very welcome indeed as is everyone it seems.

When you have hit the dizzy heights of 50 odd (with the emphasis on odd in this case) it’s disheartening and annoying the number of people who ignore you, don’t do eye contact or assume you are in for a cup of tea or a slash. Well our shower arounder was a charmer make no mistake and we loved him. So we booked a booth for supper  later in the day thinking it was just a formality –  after all a Tuesday night surely wouldn’t be busy. We were right, it wasn’t busy. It was packed.

2 main courses and a bottle of wine £30 – a good deal and too good to pass up.

Photo of Interior courtesy of Scotsman.com
Photo of Interior courtesy of Scotsman.com
Japes aplenty
Japes aplenty

One Sausage & 3 women ensconced. Happy days. As we arrived a very tired beach exhausted Charlie Chorizo was offered water which he slurped before falling asleep on my foot.

The sausage looking forward to his visit.
The sausage working up an appetite at the beach.

We  had a couple of margaritas to start – blood orange margaritas – hello! A great kick start to any evening. there was no pressure of time so we set the pace giving more than ample time for our well over due gossiping.
Well the food was great. Delicious. Fresh. Imaginative. Slurp. Beetroot and goats cheese salad. A burger – just plain but perfect and panko rolled smoked jackfruit – wtf? I have no idea so I asked. It is an Indonesian fruit apparently which was a revelation.

Resist making that revolting joker please. Thank you.
Resist making that revolting joke please. Thank you.

Our smiley server described Jackfruit as having the same consistency as pulled pork – I was sceptical but he was bang on. The flavoursome pork impersonator oozed smoky paprika and the presentation was like 2 great big meaty delicious Scotch eggs (without the egg!)
Puds were great too. We had Mellis Cheese and oatcakes and – drum roll – adffogato – not with ice cream and espresso but with rhubarb ice cream and a shot of gin. Be still my beating heart.

Dear Santa I will be a good good girl if you promise to take me back here. Soon.

Its warm, welcoming, groovy, dog friendly, cocktail delightful, foodie hangout for all.

Its so good this lazy blogger has broken the habit of being a sloth and got back on the blogging horse. Woah.

The Brandon at Canonmills: Mmmmmnnnnnnn


If you fancy going down the Jackfruit route heres an article from The Guardian all about it.