I love a turf fire. The smell, the red heat … and, why, if you have a glass of whiskey in your hand at the same time, the overall experience is the epitome of warmth on a long, cold winter’s night.
My mother – who likes nothing better than playing with fire – has been giving me lessons in fire-lighting.
This is one of my efforts (note superior turf to foreground):
When I worked in Avondale (home of Ireland's uncrowned king), the most popular item in the gift shop was a little slate dished stone with tablets of processed turf that you could light and allow to smoulder, producing all the cancer-inducing, nostalgia-inspiring smell of a smoking turf fire with none of the heat.
ReplyDelete