Slow Life | 12 July 2008

I wasn’t planning to take the family on holiday. We live on a farm and there’s always something happening. It gets harder and harder to drag oneself away. Claire got quite indignant about having missed the strawberries when we arrived home today. There were only a few soggy ones left. ‘If it’s not the strawberries it’s something else. We were always going to skip something. Try a redcurrant,’ I said cheerfully, spitting out a pip, but she ignored me. I even managed to find her some mulberries later, but I could tell she was still filled with loss. She’s pregnant and she needs strawberries.

The year before last we went to Bournemouth and completely missed the plums. That was a total disaster. It didn’t feel like summer had been fully realised without the sweet punctuation, the exclamation mark of more plums than one could possibly handle. The way they cascade into readiness, the crash and burn approach to being a fruit fills one’s heart with joy.