We walk to the top of the lane and then pass through the overgrown hedges and come out onto an old track or lane-way. The sloes are plentiful. I improvise a basket out of my scarf and we start picking. William wants to pick them all but I say no, take some and leave some for other animals.
We're like apes, says William as his little hands dart in around the thorny branches. Yes, yes we are, I reply. Although I'm pretty sure the apes wouldn't be making sloe gin with their fruit, like I'll be doing with ours.