Tuesday August 17th
Day 118
The door bell rings. My smiling brother is standing there - his suitcase in one hand and in the other an enormous white plastic bucket - three quarters full of blueberries. He picked them yesterday morning in the rain, in a field in Holland, where he had strict instructions from two Dutch ladies -
‘strip a whole bush before you move on to the next one - no cherry picking of the biggest and best’.
They all look perfect to me. I think of the small flat containers of blueberries I sometimes buy in Tesco’s - a hundred grams for £3.50. There must be four kilos here at least. I feel as if I’ve been showered in gold.
I sprinkle a handful into the pineapple and mango fruit salad we have for supper - they shine like fat black buttons in a choppy yellow sea.
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