Blackcurrant Fields

The weekend! Up nice and early (that is, "we got Dad up nice and early") for a nice long walk - dry but breezy. We headed south across the Rec and through the grounds of Macknade Farm shop, ending up on what they've all called "the blackcurrant fields" till now. Megan had told me in excited tones about 300 yard row upon row of blackcurrant bushes, with eager rabbits dashing up between the rows and sneaking through gaps into the next row.

She and Haggis could lose themeselves for hours racing up one row, nipping through gaps and down another row, with Dad charging up and down the head-land, trying to guess which row they'd emerge from. Sometimes they'd get so disorientated they'd go to the wrong end of the field trying to find Dad (which was a bit anxious for him, as the "other end" was yards from the M2 motorway)

But no more. All the bushes have been grubbed up over winter, along with the apple trees in a neighbouring orchard, the whole lot (25 acres?) fenced in as one field and ploughed. Neat, tidy, boring. I guess it's the economics of fruit growing in Kent. A man at the allotments this afternoon said that most local growers had their fruit, which is grown under contract, rejected anyway by Ribena after the hot dry summer, as being not fit for purpose, so I don't suppose that helped the economics

I've spent the day "helping" Mum and Dad who have been going crazy working thier way through a list of jobs. I've "helped" pull up the hall carpet (some say I'm the reason it has been pulled up, but that's another story!), "helped" wash the floor, "helped" with the laundry, "helped" dig the bed in the greenhouse, "helped" laying out spuds for chitting, "helped" lay a fire - ahh I'm so helpful I wonder how they ever did without me!

Deefer