I had an early start this morning. Which following a long two days in Manchester and a late night last night wasn’t the best way to start the day. But it was bright. And sunny. And I anticipated being back at my desk by mid day following my early meeting. It was not to be.
By 10.30 the meeting was done and I took a diversion through Sproughton, sat by the river and made a couple of calls. Half an hour later I was in yet another office, following through an email conversation, but face-to-face. Simply because a) it is better that way and b) the person I wanted to speak to was free. And in that conversation we discovered coincidence, serendipity, permaculture, therapy, geography, shared acquaintances (previously unknown), oral history, Mathew Hopkins (the Witchfinder General), myths, growing things, the simplicity and honesty of truths always known. I felt as if I had known him for years and yet we only spoke for an hour. More of this another time.
On the way home, I mindlessly headed back up the A140, vaguely reminding myself to turn off at the Samphire farm shop sign. Karen @Samphireshop and I have tweeted and retweeted tweets over the past year, and I once sat and ate ice cream and drank beer in her field on an exceedingly hot Sunday in July, at their smallholding open day a couple of years ago.
Today I backed into their yard and Jeff appeared, I wandered into their tiny shop and draped myself over the chiller looking at the produce. I was nearly in there. Beautiful multi-coloured eggs, the best ever pork pies (Gary Rhodes said so), rare breed sausages, juicy little goats cheese tarts, and Norfolk asparagus. We piled up the back seat of the car with produce and I tootled home feeling content, already planning asparagus with soft poached egg and parmesan shavings with sourdough toast soldiers. And I reminded myself to put their open day (July 7th) on the calendar so I can get more beer and icecream.