Seemingly my late twenties have brought with them an irresistible urge to sew, ponder interior decoration and get excited about veg boxes. Coming on the back of the discoveries that I now prefer red to white wine, am a coffee snob and have opinions on quilting magazines I can only conclude that I am on a very slippery slope towards becoming a caricature of my floral dressed self. At the point where I start watching Sunday evening television we should make some sort of pact to punch me in the head repeatedly before forcing me to go and dance to Boys with Guitars, drink tequila and fall over in a fountain.
But: the veg box.
What was labelled recently (and I hope affectionately) as my preoccupation with "THE ISSUES" is probably neatly summed up by the veg box. For reasons big and small I'm attempting to shop as ethically as I can (I suspect I will talk about this again, you have been warned). With perfect timing Riverford Organic did a leaflet drop on Brockley and enthused with having local, seasonal produce delivered by a man named Simon I signed up. Thus I now have a half share in a veg box and get to spend at least five minutes on a Thursday pondering with The East Ender exactly what that odd shaped mud coloured vegetable actually is.