When we were looking for a new house last year we saw one property which was not in a great road, was okay house-wise, but had a fantastic garden. One of the things that the estate agent pointed out was the wild strawberries growing there. Well, we didn’t go for that property and ended up in a different part of Camberley.
Almost a year later, while trimming the edge of one of the lawns at Castle Adams, I noticed… you’ve guessed it… a small crop of wild strawberries. Further inspection of the flower beds revealed more strawberry plants. It looks like we won’t be opening a ‘pick your own’ farm in the near future, and don’t expect a huge bowl to be presented should you ever come round for dinner (especially not if the slugs tuck in first).
This is not my first encounter with wild strawberries. A few years ago I was having dinner in Paris with some colleagues, including my good friend and dotted-line manager Uffe ‘the Danes have an answer’ Sorensen (who had steak I seem to remember, but I think he always does). When it came to dessert I recognised strawberries as an option and thought it a safe bet. I was presented with a bowl of the stringiest, weediest-looking strawberries I’d ever seen. The waiter must have caught the look on my face and said something that I translated as “strawberries of the wood” and followed it up with a gesture made by kissing his pinched finger and thumb. That gesture summed up that bowl of strawberries well – looks can be deceiving. They were even better than those plump berries you buy in supermarkets or four for £5 at Wimbledon.
You never know, if I can keep the slugs away I might get a full bowl (a small bowl though). Just don’t expect me to share them.
So there you have it, a blog entry about a BlackBerry followed an entry about strawberries. Next week, something about loganberries (or possibly not).