Starting on the Fruit Harvest

Never, ever, shout out in our house that you are going out in the garden to pick fruit. I did, moments later as I walked into the kitchen to get my wellies I found this.

Stubborn child

Yes, that is D wearing the fruit bowl as a hat. He looks at me and says, You will have to take the bowl from my strawberry stained hands before you get past me. He's either been watching too many Westerns or he has a mean streak that would give Jack Palance a run for his money. We come to an accord, he can help me pick strawberries as long as I hear him whistling in the garden. This means I assume that D can whistle, twenty minutes later and my backside and face are peppered in strawberries from where D has tried to whistle, missing the point that he shouldn't be eating the strawberries. Fruit picking with Carol and D runs like this, one for them, one for the pot, two for them, one for the pot, what's a pot? Carol nonchalantly told me yesterday we had raspberries in the garden, the next day there are none and she denies she ever told me there where raspberries from the toilet. Too much fruit and the fruit bites back.

Strawberries, life on pig row

D gets a stomach ache from gooseberries. He eats them like they're going out of fashion. The only thing that gets into the kitchen is three punnets of strawberries and a tray of redcurrants that weighs in at a hefty 4lbs from one bush and there's still some left on the bush! If you don't grow fruit, do grow strawberries, the ones in the shops do not compare.


We do have plans to cage the fruit patch as it is inevitable that the birds get in to our hastily thrown nets. I will put a door on the new cage and a padlock, by night I will patrol it listening for digging noises and the giggles of a small child with his Mummy breaking in.

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