Latest news with #Coinneach
The Herald Scotland
2 days ago
- Lifestyle
- The Herald Scotland
I'm in nesting mode - but finding it hard to let go of my 'other baby'
Today, though, it's unmistakable. Almost overnight, my jeans no longer fit and I'm able to lift the underside of my bump and feel his kicks stronger every day. And boy, are they strong. This side of pregnancy has crept up on me, and it has suddenly put into perspective just how little time there is between now and delivery - and my husband's countdown on the kitchen chalkboard is well into double digits by now. Suddenly, the words 'hospital bag' and 'birth plan' are being brought up in our daily conversations, and I have hand-me-downs stacked in every available corner. And every piece of clothing has a set of ears. Read more Life on a Scottish island: 'This place is just magical, isn't it?' It also means that I'm now thinking about what happens afterwards - maternity leave. A leave of absence from a place I consider to be my baby, to look after my actual baby. A hostel doesn't exactly shut down just because you need to. Nowhere does, I suppose. Guests still arrive, beds still need changing, laundry still piles up and bins forever need taking out. And in the winter, when the majority of my maternity leave will be soaked up, we welcome a completely different roster of guests - stargazers and amateur astronomers here to catch a glimpse of the aurora or the Milky Way. Of course, I've never been on maternity leave before, so I'm not sure if this is a universal experience. But my feelings towards maternity leave are odd. I feel a sense of something - not quite guilt, but a nervousness - at leaving something that my husband and I have poured so much of our thoughts and lives into over this last year. Coinneach will take on all of my managerial duties and the spreadsheets that go with it, and for the busier months we'll look to hire someone to take his own place. I think, had I been pregnant while working for previous employers on the mainland, it'd be as simple as scheduling a meeting with HR, filling out the paperwork, and leaving without a second thought to begin this new chapter. But here, in a place where we're so ingrained in the day-to-day and have a beautiful routine together, it feels harder to let go. Our bosses are of course wonderful. They are both mothers themselves, and honestly have reminded me of the importance of putting myself and baby above all else, and that things will absolutely go on without me. If anything, they're encouraging me to take more leave than I had initially planned. My problem, really, is letting go. Learning to stop saying 'I'll just do it myself' or 'don't worry, I got this', and accepting help from those around me who are very willing to give it. And this week has been a lesson in giving in to the voice that is telling me to slow down. As I wrote about recently, I'm in total nesting mode, and the next victim of my tirade is our bedroom. I've spent more than I care to admit in different furniture shops, and all my large boxes arrived at once at the pier. And of course, they arrived just days after the storm blew down a tree and blocked road access to our house. But we walked to the pier anyway, and made sure the boxes were raised off the ground and out of the way of any puddles. And even I knew that it wasn't smart for me to lift any of it, no matter how much I may have wanted to. When it comes to the building, and the painting, and the 'we simply have to hang these shelves tonight', I know that I'll now be listening to my body - and my husband - when they say that I should be putting down the roller brush and taking on a more supervisory role. And the little kicks I can feel as I write this seem to agree. So here I am, bump finally showing, maternity leave pencilled in, and a roster of helpers who've already claimed they'll spoil the baby - and me - rotten. I'm ready, or at least as ready as anyone can be for the most unpredictable change of their life. And I'm finally accepting the help of those around me, one bulky furniture box at a time. Elle Duffy is a former Herald journalist who is now living and writing on the Isle of Rum. She can be found on TikTok and Instagram @lifeonrum
Scottish Sun
6 days ago
- Entertainment
- Scottish Sun
‘Best biscuit in the world' people cry over Scottish baker's nostalgic recipe that ‘transports you back to gran's house'
Click to share on X/Twitter (Opens in new window) Click to share on Facebook (Opens in new window) A TOP Scottish baker has sent food fans into a nostalgic frenzy after sharing his delicious recipe for the "best biscuit in the world". Coinneach Macleod, affectionately known as the Hebridean Baker, has released four cook books packed full of delicious dishes and boasts 440,000 social media followers. Sign up for Scottish Sun newsletter Sign up 6 Hebridean Baker Coinneach MacLeod creates traditional Scottish recipes Credit: Tom Farmer 6 Coinneach sent fans into a nostalgic frenzy when he shared his empire biscuits Credit: Instagram/The Hebridean Baker 6 Food lovers hailed the treat as 'the best biscuit in the world' Credit: Instagram/The Hebridean Baker 6 But people were divided between Jelly Tots and glacé cherries as the perfect topping Credit: Getty The 51-year-old, from the Outer Hebrides, told Fabulous it's "important to keep the traditional recipes alive". He picked up some of his top tips and passion for retro Scottish bakes from his aunt Bellag who, at 97-years-old, still whips up treats in the kitchen. In a recent Instagram clip, he revealed his simple four-step recipe to create the "Scottish classic" empire biscuit. Coinneach said: "Originally known as the Linzer Biscuit, these have become an iconic part of any Scottish teatime. "Also popular in Northern Ireland, where they are named German Biscuits, these melt-in-the-mouth shortbread biscuits are traditionally sandwiched with raspberry jam and topped with a thick icing." And people can't get enough of his simple, mouth-watering bake that's transported them back in time. "LOVE THESE, MY CHILDHOOD IN BISCUIT FORM", one person cried. A second wrote: "My mum used to make trays and trays of these for parish sales. I can remember her sandwiching them all together and then having different combinations of glacé icing and toppings)." A third chimed in: " to see the best biscuit in the world being home baked." "If ever there was a bake that transported me back to my gran's house it's this", insisted a fourth. You can make school cake in the air fryer with just 6 ingredients - it's ready in minutes & perfect for an after-school snack A fifth echoed: "Thanks for bringing back some wonderful memories of my mum, who often made these when I was young." Meanwhile, a sixth said: "Ohh my favourite of all sweet noble Empire Biscuit...." But Coinneach sparked debate when he revealed he ditches the traditional glacé cherry on top for a Jelly Tot - insisting that there "is no doubt" that it completes the sweet treat perfectly. Some clearly agree, as one wrote: "Jelly Tots everytime. Cherries are only for "Proper Adults" eg. My Grandpa in my mind. I never want to grow up." "On balance am a jelly tot man, although I think it's the quality of the biscuit that's the deal breaker", echoed a second. Others, however, have defended the fruity topping with cries of "Noooooooooooooooo it's a glacé cherry for me" and "Cherry all the way". 6 Coinneach picked up his love for baking from his aunt Bellag Credit: Hebridean Baker 6 People can't get enough of the nostalgic snack Credit: Alamy Regardless of your topping preference, you'll want to give this simple bake a try. Here's Coinneach's simple recipe... Method Ingredients (makes 12) For the biscuit: 50g softened butter 100g caster sugar 1 egg ½ teaspoon vanilla extract 450g plain flour For the topping: 250g icing sugar 3 tablespoons water Raspberry jam, for spreading Jelly Tots Cream together your butter and sugar, then mix in the egg and vanilla extract. Sift in the flour in batches and mix well until combined. Lightly flour a work surface and roll out the dough to a 1cm (½') thickness. Use a round cutter on the biscuits. Place on a baking tray, leaving a bit of space between biscuits to spread. Pop in the fridge for at least 1 hour to firm up. Preheat the oven to 160°C fan and bake for 10 minutes or until baked but still light in colour. Leave to cool completely on a wire rack. To make the topping, place the icing sugar in a bowl and gradually mix in the water. Spread the icing on half of the biscuits and spread 1 tablespoon of jam on each of the remaining biscuits. Place the iced biscuits on top of the biscuits with jam. Top each biscuit with a Jelly Tot and share.
The Herald Scotland
15-06-2025
- The Herald Scotland
Our first wedding anniversary began with a power cut. It wasn't ideal
We tried to recall where we were this time last year, and what we might have been feeling. The weather was vastly different - on our wedding day on the banks of Loch Ard near Aberfoyle, the skies were a clear blue and the sun had us sweltering before the nerves even settled in. Here, though, it's a washout. After a few weeks of sunshine, the rain and wind we were so desperately craving has arrived, and it seems it's here to stay. At this time in the morning, I mused, I was panic-eating a croissant while trying to keep my eyes closed for the lady doing my makeup. My dress was hanging up in the bedroom and most of my bridesmaids were already ready for the ceremony. Coinneach on the other hand, was attempting to free my brother from a locked changing room and had yet to have his first cup of coffee. 'Imagine,' Coinneach said on our anniversary, 'if we could show our newly-married selves a picture or a video of where we are right now.' I'm not entirely sure our past selves would have believed us. We're sitting in a restaurant on our neighbouring isle, Canna - and from our seats near the bar, we can see the fishing boat that secured our seafood platter not two hours before we sat down. Cafe Canna is one of the first buildings you come across when you hop off the CalMac ferry (Image: Elle Duffy) Cafe Canna is one of the first buildings you come across when you hop off the CalMac ferry. We've come on a Wednesday, when visitors to Rum can enjoy a day trip to our smaller neighbour for a few hours, and plonked ourselves down without hesitation for our anniversary lunch. We've been planning it for weeks - a chance to have food brought to your table and the prospect of no dishes was something we certainly took for granted living in Glasgow city centre, but now, it's a luxury. And one we won't be forgetting any time soon. The crossing to Canna was less than romantic. The winds were howling and the ferry leaned into every choppy wave with a force that made my stomach churn and had me questioning if a full lobster lunch was a good idea. But alongside us on our crossing was every kid in the Small Isles - it was the famed Small Isles Week, a chance for primary school kids from Rum, Muck, Canna and Eigg to meet up with each other and enjoy a week of socialising and learning. This year, it was hosted on Rum - in our Bunkhouse, no less. And if they can stomach the waves, then I figure I can, too. Lunch was perhaps one of the most impressive spreads I've ever come across. Gareth, the cafe's owner, greeted us with a smile and presented us with our toolkit, assuring us that he won't judge us for any mess we make when breaking into our shells. Fresh homemade bread - gluten free for Coinneach - and a smoky garlic aioli were popped on the table, but were quickly pushed to the side for the main event. Steaming hot lobster, crab and langoustines were presented beautifully in a bowl in front of us - I think our shocked faces earned us a few chuckles from our neighbouring tables. Read more Having both worked in hotels that offer seafood platters before, we were astounded at how both of us had completely forgotten what to do. I held the lobster crackers and hoped the rest would come naturally. But really, we found, the best way to dig in was to quite literally dig in. If we were surprised at the size of the meal, we were even more surprised at how much it filled us up. We all but waddled into the village shop next door - a quaint honesty shop with an impressive selection of meats, cheeses and baked goods, and some of the nicest homemade marmalade I've ever had. The ferry was just a five minute walk away, and we realised that we'd only scratched the surface of what is such a friendly and enticing island, and so we left with the promise we'd be back soon to venture further than the few hundred metres we'd managed that day. And thankfully, the waves had decided that we'd had enough, and calmed down for our crossing back to Rum. The perfect anniversary celebration indeed. Elle Duffy is a former Herald journalist who is now living and writing from the Isle of Rum
The Herald Scotland
08-06-2025
- The Herald Scotland
I woke up to find hundreds of midges in my living room
And yet as I'm writing this, Coinneach is standing over the windowsill in our front room, hoover nozzle in hand, scooping up the hundreds of midges that have managed to breach our window nets overnight and have made our living room their final resting place. Friday nights at the village square have been cut short a fair few times, when the midges decide they too want to join in the fun. The hardy locals who have experienced the clouds of bugs before simply light some incense sticks and have another glass of something to cope with the swarm. But for us city folk, I reckon it'll take a little while longer to build up a tolerance. Read more They came early this year, deciding to emerge in April and demonstrate their full potential in the last week or so. It has made us wish for breezy afternoons - even at the expense of the ferries, which have seen their first cancellations this week since the summer timetable began. But with the midges comes the arrival of some much cuter and far less annoying animals to Rum's landscape. Last week, I spoke of the Manx Sheerwater and their burrows on the slopes of Hallival - I heard their cries for the first time on Wednesday when I found myself awake at 1am. Gutteral, croaking, terrifying. No wonder the vikings believed they were hearing trolls. And while they protect their young on the mountains, the animals that remain closer to ground level have begun welcoming their babies, too. In Kilmory to the north of the island, famed for its sandy beaches and incredible views over to the Black Cuillins on the Isle of Skye, researchers have settled in for a summer of studying the newborn red deer. They come out with wobbly legs and Bambi-esque coats, and within the first few days of their lives, researchers will capture and tag them, take a few measurements and release them to the wild. They'll spend the next few months in close tandem to their mothers, making their first journeys around Rum's incredible nature reserve. So far, the team has seen 30 calves, and managed to catch and tag 29 of them - one of them is Ekari25. Around one thousand red deer live on the island, and I'm beginning to understand their namesake. While in the winter their coats are a soft brown, they are now turning a vibrant maroon. A newborn red deer (Image: Elle Duffy) It's the world's longest running research study of a deer population, and even they, too, are plagued by Rum's infamous midges. The calm nights of the last week have made for a haven for the tiny pests, and Kilmory seems to bear the brunt of them. And selfishly, I don't mind too much if they want to settle far from the village. Perhaps that's why we decided to seek shelter on the other side of the island for a rare day off together. On the ragged cliffs of Harris, there is what can only be described as a squad of goats meandering near to where Coinneach and I had set up a windy picnic of fruit and sandwiches. It's the first time I've ever seen a goat on Rum, and while some have impressive beards, there are two teeny kids in the mix, playfully jumping from rock to rock and running around the legs of their group. Harris seemed to be putting on a show for us. There were the baby goats and their families, the Rum ponies were galloping towards where we were sitting near to the mausoleum, and the highland cows were sitting proudly, sensing the rain before it began to fall. On our way there, we saw a golden eagle being chased by what looked like two hooded crows - its mate soon joined the fight, and we lost them to the low hanging cloud. And yet at Harris, it's a raven who is the befallen, being dived upon by two noisy oystercatchers protecting their nearby nest. Sitting here on the reserve, it's a wonder just how many new families are welcoming their young onto the island. The eagles on Barkeval, the goats at Harris, the deer at Kilmory. Even the ducks that plague my workplace have some fluffy chicks chirping by their feet. A beautiful ecosystem exists here, and the newborns are now a part of a truly magical part of the world. But the midges? I'm not seeing the beauty in them just yet. Elle Duffy is a former Herald journalist who is now living and writing from the Isle of Rum
The Herald Scotland
31-05-2025
- Climate
- The Herald Scotland
I'm living my Scottish island dreams but I'll never forget my roots
'Your people have arrived!' another said. They started rhyming off surnames of people they know from the area, as anyone in Scotland will do if you say you're from a particular village. Street names, schools - everything was on the table. And everyone had a connection. A few years ago, the village I grew up in had just over five thousand people - and of course now, my current village has less than 40. Read more It's a small world, when these two small populations have so much in common. The hillwalking group came on the day the heavens opened. After weeks of glorious sunshine and no-jacket weather, there were suddenly heavy hailstones and winds that threw the loose rubbish bags from outside our house across the street (no, our skips have still not been emptied). One chap decided after one night that the rain wasn't for him - he left 18 hours after he arrived, with the promise to be back to enjoy the island in all its beauty and sunshine. For those who remained, their boots were wet and midge nets well-used, but their aching joints made for great stories to tell of their trips to Kilmory and up Askival. And while the rain scuppered some plans and put a literal dampener on some people's spirits, I could've danced in it. It was a warm tropical rain that lashed down to earth and soaked you through, but suddenly our hills looked a luscious green and my car was no longer an orange-sandy mess. The metal roof of our cottage bore the brunt of it, and we had to raise our voices to be heard. It also meant that the annual Shearwater count was brought forward. While I chatted away to the hillwalking club and washed tea towels and loos, Coinneach was halfway up Hallival, armed with a ham sandwich and a pair of binoculars, joining the team from NatureScot for the day. Every year, they take a trip up the rugged slopes of Hallival where the Manx Shearwater call home. Manx Shearwater (Image: Elle Duffy) It's their breeding season, and having been back on the island for a few weeks, they've begun laying their eggs. Have you ever been to a museum or exhibit where you have to shove your hand in an unknown box and guess what's inside? This was the job of those out on the hills last week. They reached the burrows along the side of Hallival, and with a careful trepidation, pushed their hands inside until they were up to their shoulder. Then, they had to feel around, slowly, carefully, for a moss-covered nest and feathers - and then, the bird itself. Tiny - around the size of a small seagull, sitting atop the single egg they lay. Some would peck; their home was being invaded by an unknown hand, after all. But once the rangers reached underneath and felt the smooth curve of an egg, their job was done. There was the sad moment where an egg would be cold, meaning their parent hadn't returned and was therefore abandoned. And another when the bird was present, but not breathing. But overall, the count was a success - so many healthy, happy birds with viable eggs that'll turn into fluffy Manxies come August. Their home will be a green one, and they'll grow up surrounded by the hills and the open air. And honestly, I'm glad I started out with stone slabs in my mainland village. They are two vastly different worlds, and yet I appreciate them both in so many ways. They've both shaped me in body and mind, and I'll always have a deep connection to my roots and my present. And in the end, I'll always be a little girl from Holitin, living her island dreams on Rum.
