It’s apparently summer. But it isn’t really… the weather now is just spring’s big hangover until autumn hits us. There was however, one blissful week around mid- May where the sun did put his hat on. Not only was it boiling, but the Shouty Man was selling a bag of tomatoes for £1. The Shouty Man deserves his own introduction. I live next to a market in York. Every evening, without fail, a man on one of the fruit and veg stalls tries to fob off all the mushy, sweaty or just plain unloved bags of fruit or veg that didn’t get sold that day at reduced prices. At first, I thought living next to all this discounted food would be a great opportunity but as usual, I promptly became scared of the Shouty Man. I feel awful if I don’t have a pound to pick up something when I pass him on the way home. I avoid his eye, go round the other street to get home, or worse, cave in and break a note somewhere so I have change to buy some sweaty strawberries. But on the days where I do have change in my pocket, I’m likely to spend it there, like I did on that fateful hot evening I made gazpacho.
