Just peachy

The long winter months of fruit deprivation have come to an end, at last. Yesterday, I went into the farm shop to find, to my joy, not only English strawberries, but Spanish peaches. (In fruit terms, I'm afraid, I count Spain as local.) I pounced on them. They were astronomically expensive - apparently the booming Polish economy has resulted in a dearth of slave fruit pickers - and not particularly delicious, but gloriously guilt-free.

I brought two peaches with me to pick the kids up from school. 'The first peach of the year!' Alfie shouted with excitement before cramming it into his mouth.

That made it all worth it. All the months of wrinkly apples and curly Kale. It's not the peaches that I'm loving; it's the fact that my children now appreciate seasonality. As do I. Rock on the cherry season!

I'm also loving the farm shop, which is becoming increasingly well stocked. Apart from parmesan and chickpeas and white balsamic vinegar, there's pretty much everything I need. And the joy of it is that, because I haven't been into a supermarket now for 4 1/2 months, I have no point of price comparison.

Apart from Mark, that is. He popped into Sainsbury's yesterday to get some creme fraiche - and came out singing its praises. 'It's so cheap!' he cried, brandishing four jars of tomato passata (which he's steaming through for the sake of the empty bottles, which he's planning to use for his home-produced passata). 'And what's more, they give away free bags!'

Caroline 2 in the farm shop was bemoaning the price of lettuces. 'I get through tonnes of them,' she said. 'My pet goose loves them.' I said I'd save any spare leaves for it.

We started discussing the weather.
'I hope it stays fine for the weekend,' she said. 'I was planning to go out for the day. It's my birthday. But it's also the ruddy Bowood ballooon festival.'
'Are you going to it?' I asked.
'No. I can't. My goose is terrified of balloons and I daren't leave him.'