Description
The first photo shows an awful arachnid (a wasp spider aka Argiope bruennichi, says MM) guarding a favourite patch. The third is of blackberry vodka in preparation, but that goes quickly at source. I blog/tweet about blackberrying and the marshes occasionally, but shamefully never seem to manage to take any action photos during the season.
My jar vacuums are more powerful than shop ones. Confronted with a recalcitrant pot, I put on my Wehrmacht cap and beat dents into the lid with a rolling pin or hammer, crying, “Aufmachen!”, “Open up!” Then I twist again.
I’ve had a quasi-religious relationship with blackberries since one Friday in August years ago. I’d been spending a lot of energy on a doomed banking project and the rest in increasingly bizarre nocturnal escapades, and in order to relax I decided it would be a smart idea to pedal down from London after work for a beer festival at the Flower Pots at Cheriton, when Loopy was still brewing in the shed. I followed the Thames till Walton then struck out south over quieter roads through Woking and Guildford, from which point I felt increasingly terrible. By the time I got to Alresford I could barely cycle, and just short of Cheriton I collapsed into a hedge – full of blackberries. There I sat and ate for well over an hour until my digestion was destroyed but my legs could continue. Marvellous things.
