Lets face it, we all chase happiness like a toddler chases a pigeon. Fully focused yet just out of reach, except that actually in chasing we sometimes forget we're having a riot.
Apples make me happy, ridiculously so. I think they were the only healthy thing I liked as a child. The wonderful children's book 'Apple Pigs' is a classic in our family.
We had two apple trees in our garden - cooking apples for which my parents unfortunately had little time or inclination to do much with, as would you with four tearaways and a job each to handle. All I can remember is being told to go out and pick up the rotten ones.
The apple tree in my garden bears the most seductive fruit. Today, I picked one to accompany my cup of tea. Everything from the accidental squelch of the the rotten fruit underfoot, to the selection of the perfectly ripe one, to slicing through the crisp flesh brought with it the sense that not only was I chasing a pigeon but I'd damn well caught the bugger, roasted it and dished it up with thick gamey gravy.
The taste? Half cox, half braeburn; sweet and sharp.
And the best bit? Look what's left...
