Yesterday evening, R came in from the garden bearing peaches. Last year, it was all about the plums. This year the plums are underachieving, but the peaches and pears are in overdrive.
I feel slightly odd eating fruit from the garden—it feels like stealing. Everyone knows you're supposed to get your food from the store. (The exception to this rule is the tomato—my dad and grandad were both keen tomato-growers, and family gatherings often included discussions of trusses.)