As a child I remember scrambling, large tupperware in hand, into brambles to pick for my mother's delicious apple and blackberry pies and bramble jelly. This was an activity seriously undertaken - scrub that. It was an EXPEDITION! We'd go wearing long trousers and wellies and once we'd picked around the edges of a bush we'd bash our way in, making sure all the ripe fruit from across the top was collected too. We'd come away, containers and tummies full, with purple fingers and lips...tasting is essential for quality control!

With thoughts of crumble and bramble jelly, L and I set off with Monty armed with containers and secateurs (for those long brambly branches). A skirt and sandals possibly wasn't the best idea but it was a really hot day.  It didn't take long to fill our tubs, despite spending time watching out for the prickly lower branches and nettles. Only one sting each and hardly any scratches!

Monty loved it: what's not to love, burrowing in a hedge, going for a swim (he found water) and eating! He liked the taste of the berries so much he quickly developed his own knack of pulling them off without getting prickled.

Knowing when to stop picking is the hardest thing. As you soon as your brain makes the decision to call it a day your eyes alight on another laden branch of fat, juicy, tasty, purple berries... but the tubs just couldn't be piled any higher.
Back home, L started peeling and chopping her way through a pile of apples for the crumbles and I dusted off a cookery book to look for a bramble jelly recipe. Meanwhile Monty had his drink of water and laid down for a snooze.