The strawberries have ripened later this year. Our first visit to the local pick-your-own farm had been much anticipated and on a scorching Sunday it was a glorious way to spend a morning. This year, to his delight, R could finally reach the strawberries in their raised beds, and he swiftly declared himself to be chief taste tester: “I am in charge of checking that the strawberries are okay.” The baby snoozed in his pram in a shady spot and the rest of us filled the punnets with seed-speckled berries. A plentiful harvest, enough for numerous jars of jam and generous helpings of Eton mess. Oh, the sweetness of a strawberry Sunday.