Well, it’s a hard job but somebody has to do it.
“A little taste of Italy in the heart of Fife” is how the Kettlebridge Inn presents itself and, to go by this particular diner’s experience, it does what it says on the tin. This cosy little pub certainly does nestle right in the midst of the Kingdom but is easy to reach both off the A92 and from the road heading south from St Andrews and Cupar.
Sisters, it would appear, are doing it for themselves. Or at least, taking a leaf out of the men’s somewhat naughty book and getting all lascivious (or las-vicious, as I once heard it described) about the physical attributes of attractive young men (ie ogling the shirt off Poldark’s Aidan Turner who has once more got his pecs out for the ladies).
The Gardener’s Cottage
We missed National Cat Day in our house last week (August 8, for those of you who want to get it into next year’s diary) for the same reason that National Gin Day passed me by.
My husband was speaking to a Portuguese podiatrist this week. The way you do. And before you’re put off reading the rest of this by the thought of pedal extremities in need of professional attention, they did not talk of feet but of food.
Well, this is the last column before the General Election. Not that a lot of you will be queuing up to turn to me for guidance on the future direction of our nation(s).
In my hot youth, when I was at school studying history, there used to be a lot of store set on the significance of what were considered the great days of British worldwide supremacy.
The Wine Press majors in wine. You might have guessed, the clue being in the name and all. But it’s not one of those limited places where it only does what it says on the impressively labelled bottle and nothing else.