A proper frosted morning. The dogs and I crunched our way through our morning walk and the air hung still and cold. After breakfast we decided this had to be the perfect day to pick sloes for sloe gin. Tradition has it that you pick them after a good hard frost and we knew up the lane there were plenty - the first time in at least two, maybe three years. A bit of extreme sloe picking was in order. We piled into the Landrover and bumped our way through mud and puddles to the overgrown part of the lane, where the spiny blackthorn waited. And there in bright sunshine we picked the dusted purple fruits until one of our party declared he couldn't feel his toes in his wellies anymore and he'd really rather be at home...
...so home we came to defrost by the fire and weigh out the sugar for the sloe gin to come.
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