The blackberries are plumping up nicely on the hills behind the village (see pic). It was wonderfully peaceful up there today, as always, with just the sound of the bleating (almost bronchitic-sounding) sheep and the plaintive cry of the lone buzzard circling. I picked about 5lbs of fruit; Ollie tends to help himself....now if he had opposable thumbs, he'd be really useful. Hopefully the crop will be better than the blackcurrants this year; usually it takes 5 of us several hours to strip the bushes in a remote garden near Coedely (thanks Alan), but this year we barely broke sweat.
Anyway, I now have a bowl wedged between the legs of an upside-down milking stool, with a piece of muslin pinned to the feet and a mass of stewed blackberries draining overnight, ready to make Bramble Jelly.....just like my Mum used to do. No hi-tech gadgetry here!