I’m Safe Picking Strawberries… Aren’t I?

Published / Written by Judith Portman / No Comments Yet

Hello my lovelies. You’ve probably come to realise by now that my life can be somewhat accident prone and haphazard, to say the least! Nothing ever seems to go straightforward for me and when I decided to go strawberry picking last week, it was no different from usual! To be honest, I’d never thought that something as simple as picking a delicious red fruit could cause me any complications, but boy was I wrong!

Pick Your Own Strawberries

It all started on a lovely sunny Saturday morning. I’ve been trying to watch my weight lately, (and aren’t we all thinking about the summer holiday?) and decided that it was about time that I got more fruit into my diet. There is nothing better to me than a dish piled high with my favourite strawberries and so I thought I would kill two birds with one stone. I could get exercise while picking them and stuff my face silly into the bargain!

Little did I know that PYO has become something of a hazard according to the ever-loveable health and safety brigade! I was surprised to say the least when I saw notices at the entrance to the PYO farm, warning of the dangers within and stating that they could not be held responsible for what might happen once in there. “What harm can I come to?” I asked my friend Bella, (who also wants to lose weight and is up for almost anything!)

“I can’t see that even you would have a problem picking strawberries,” she intoned, deadpan as usual. Even me? I thought. But then again, she does know me well and had a valid point as things turned out. We began our journey into PYO by picking up baskets from the shop to load up with our goodies. My philosophy was ‘one for basket and one for my tummy,’ but that quickly turned into feeling quite sick. I’d never realised that I could actually get fed up of strawberries and so a lot sooner than I had originally thought, I was saying to Bella, “I’ve had enough now. Can we go and pay and do something else?”

“Don’t be a spoil sport,” was her reply. “I thought you wanted to get some exercise as well?”

So off we went back down the well-trodden dirt track, following lots of other people who must all have had a thing for strawberry jam. When we got to the end of that track we had a superb view out over their farmland and there just happened to be a couple of cows, (or so I thought!) grazing in the field. “Aww, I’ve always loved cows,” I smiled. “Ever since my first boyfriend said I had eyes like a calf.”

“You what?” Bella looked rather dumbfounded.

“Think about it,” I replied. “Dark brown, long, luscious lashes, all soft and cuddly. There are worse things to be compared to.”

“You’re pleased someone said you look like a cow? Would have belted them personally,” was Bella’s retort as she started climbing over the fence into the field.

“What are you doing?”

“Going to get a closer look at your namesakes,” she grinned, cocking her other leg over. I followed, my foot slipped and I landed straight in a big shiny pile of… Tune in for next instalment!