Caught in traffic on the A40 into Gloucester this morning, I found the opportunity to read the signs by the side of the road. Of greatest interest to historians, is the eighteenth century milestone, which, one mile out, proclaims, 'Gloucester, 1 Mile' . For whose benefit this archaic piece of navigation equipment is, I know not, for Gloucester is clearly visible across the river, the astoundingly beautiful Cathedral dominating the middle distance.
However, I barely cast a glance in the direction of the milestone, my eye being caught by the poster close by that reads, 'Farm Grown Veg'
We are driving past fields of onions, squash and greens, in season, in accordance with the crop rotation, and I am forced to ask myself, 'Where else would they be grown?'
In the course of the last month or so, I have:
Imbibed, 'hand- crafted beer'
Eaten 'sun-ripened tomatoes'
Placed a 'hand-picked olive' into a martini and
Put 'line-caught tuna' on toast.
My mind is playing tricks with you again. Let's go to South America and buy
Sustainably harvested from the rainforest, hand- picked, by fair-trade peasants, tree-sown Brazil nuts, carried in hand- woven panniers, on rain-drenched donkeys over foot-worn trails to windswept beaches ...
Oh, I can see I'm going to have fun with this...
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