Strawberry Fields & Sticky Fingers

So I am here wondering what to write about today…deliberating over a review of the Star Trek movie I saw last night or the AMAZING chocolate-caramel cheesecake at Frankie & Benny’s afterwards (will these hips EVER be thin???) Or perhaps a vent about the non-collection of my recycling AGAIN. Maybe a little pre-sojourn into my busy week ahead…

But it’s all being eclipsed by one thing…


Not just any strawberry either. My very first one to go all red and be ripe for picking…how bloody rude!

I’ve been monitoring the progress of two particular strawbs, waiting for the perfect moment for picking them so that J and I could share the sweet taste of [strawberry] success together. It was all planned for the weekend…and when I went out to pick them, this one was gone.

Crushed (not unlike a strawberry daiquiri – at least when you’ve finished and you are trying to suck more from the dregs at the bottom of the glass), I plucked the remaining one from the bush and took it inside, cut it in half and sadly offered to share it…strawberry scrumptiousness indeed!

I have been thinking about the likely culprits – who do you think got their sticky ‘paws’ all over my strawbs? Could it be the neighbour two doors down, outwardly supportive of my gardening exploits but with a deeper desire to poach the fruit of my labours? What about the local wildlife – maybe it was an ambush conducted under cover of night by Bob the badger (J tells me he’s been seen lurking in the area) or a raid by a posse of Windmill Rise squirrels or one of those well-bred, well-fed, Kingston foxes, breaking cover from their usual stomping ground amongst the bin sheds.

But someone in particular has been looking rather pleased with himself of late and I’m beginning to suspect that maybe the culprit is closer to home…

So what’s this all about Alfie?

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