Late to the market this morning–parking at just before nine.
After a hectic five day weekend in London, it’s taking time to get back in touch.
The autumnal equinox today (Meredith and friends dance it in tonight) and the tomatoes on the stalls have a farewell look about them.
I find myself passing on the green beans and looking for broccoli.
I remember Nina–the Dutch-American we bought our house from–saying you have to be in the market by 9am on a Saturday–or the good stuff is gone.
I’m usually on my way home by 9am–feeling virtuous and looking forward to breakfast.
Not this morning.
There’s still plenty of good stuff though—rocket, parsley, strawberries, thin aubergines/eggplants, shiny firm courgettes/zucchini, poultry reared locally and fresh sardines for lunch–things that just aren’t the same in supermarkets.
And by 9.45 am more of a crowd too.
I’m dodging round small groups of friends standing between the rows of stalls, exchanging family news and plans for le weekend.
Get there an hour earlier and these social shoppers are still at the breakfast table.
I’m idling this morning, taking time and enjoying it.
Different town, new season–embracing the changes.