![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXCtXP02K84gx6EOdfbLGj9AZ5L1FhqABht9iZB3nun2SFIJb9iz7haFeoMdw8JnSFKiVLtJ63trhDAZ18RJ44mFLK2X313G_TMogXQrWg_xgcKNhp0ReXuxUXP3p9o-T9yoFzgUnWq-VG/s320/styrawberries1.jpg)
It's kind of like seeing Xmas decorations in September or Valentine's cards in December: strawberries in March are just wrong.
But my greedy belly got the better of me when I spotted these beauties in Sainsbury's yesterday.
Did I care that they have more airmiles than me? No, I did not. Was I bothered that they're so ginormous they surely have more than a passing acquaintance with genetic modification? Nada.
So I smothered them in yoghurt, nuts and seeds and gobbled them down. And they were like eating wet tissue paper.
A good reminder of why God invented seasonal and local eating.
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