I’ve sent my husband out blackberrying with the kids. They return with several enormous tubs of berries looking very pleased with themselves.
“Excellent,” I say taking the tubs. I start to sort them into bags to go in the freezer. Then I pause.
“Hang on a minute,” I say pulling out a sloe berry. “What’s this doing in here?”
“Oh,” says my hubby. “I saw those in the hedgerow and I thought they looked nice. So I picked them too. I don’t know what they are.”
I eye him suspiciously. “Did you pick anything else?”
“Oh yes.” He’s looking really smug. “There were all sorts of berries along the lane.”
I spend ages sifting through the blackberries really carefully before freezing them.
I think I’ve removed all the sloes and deadly nightshade.
Sloe gin and blackberry pie anyone?
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