This is something I came across yesterday when I was looking through my desk. I took the photo several years ago when we had heavy snow and the farmer was feeding some of the sheep. I had it made into a Christmas card for the next year and this must have been a spare one. Sorry for the poor rather blurred image but it has obviously gone through several processes before it got to here. It is lovely to look back on times like this, although obviously tinged with sadness. I remember the day well.
I took another photograph which I intended to put on just above this part of the post but sorry, it refuses to move. But the other night I made a salad for my tea (feeling virtuous) - I made it look really pretty on the plate by dividing the plate into sections - wild rocket, feta cheese, cous-cous, piccolo tomatoes,pecan nuts and pineapple. I sat admiring it before tucking into it - the French dressing bottle in my hand - when it suddenly struck me how 'foreign' this salad would have been to my parents. They were keen salad eaters, but it all came out of our garden - lettuce, tomatoes from the greenhouse, radishes, celery. I looked at the packaging on all the things I had used for my salad - every single one of them had come from abroad - Morocco, Italy, Greece - (I try not to buy salad ingredients from Spain having seen a TV programme showing thousands of acres of greenhouses and the immigrant workers who work in them for very poor pay and in very poor conditions.) No doubt some of you will be appalled that I should make a salad like this when I could use English salad ingredients (have you ever tasted a tasty English tomato at this time of year?) but I happen to like all the things on my plate. I enjoyed the salad very much as it happens.