More neglect of the blog - this time I've actually been writing and not getting around to posting - how sad and chaotic is that! On the weekend we took the kids to a pick-your own fruit farm. Acting on some halcyon memories of my childhood, sitting in strawberry beds on a sunny day, no need for a picnic, plenty of fruit to eat. Himself had less rosy recollections of working as a fruit picker in Kent - back-breaking work all day and you'd be lucky to clear fifteen quid at the end of it.

The lad loved the experience, must have weighed twice as much when we left as when we got there and made nil contribution to the jam-making mission (which was the ultimate goal). Although on the border of the city, we were on the side of a mountain, overlooking the river Tamar, it was blissful. Nestling behind some trees was a grim looking council estate at the edge of the ciy - but out at the strawberry beds all you could see was nature was it was intended to be.

We stopped at Tescos on the way home to pick up some jam sugar - their strawberries were cheaper than the ones we had just picked. There's something wrong there. But, given that we didn't pay for the lad's consumption, we were still quids in I guess.

We made very runny jam in our electric bread maker which doubles as a jam maker and a pasta maker - every home should have one. We also made strawberry gateau and strawberry milkshakes and pancakes with runny jam. A real fruit fest like I remember from the days when fresh fruit was a seasonal treat only.

Now, I'm going to post this before I go to a meeting. Short but very sweet.