Hogmanay

A ritual day, with a good walk in the middle of it. The ritual? Fetching the venison in the morning - not just a wander to the shops, but an expedition to the stalker's larder near Clachaig, in among the forest at the foot of the hills. Then coffee in the car, followed by a walk we don't do often enough, up an initially steep forestry road and on, traversing the hillside until we come to this view over Loch Tarsan, with the dam across its far end. It was utterly silent, apart from the noise of a lone duck somewhere below us and the steady gurgle of the burns on the hillside.

My extra photo is of our close friends with whom we have spent Hogmanay for more years than I can remember. I was too busy to take photos earlier, so this shows the aftermath of dinner (venison fillet, roasted veg, celeriac and potato purée, Christmas pud #2 with brandy butter and runny custard - flamed, of course, before eating, with brandy warmed in a small ladle over a candle at the table.) 

All ritual - and right now, at one in the morning, the final ritual act is taking place downstairs as Mr PB does the washing-up. We really must get that dishwasher ...