Well, what would you do? My husband
was working his hands carefully around the roots of our new potatoes.
We had estimated they would be ready for Christmas, but having drawn one out fairly matured, we decided we could not wait. We were already savouring in anticipation the delicious flavour. My husband procured a quarter of a bucketful, not very large, certainly, but smooth and creamy skinned; not a blemish on them. He stood admiring them while he brushed the soil off his hands. Seeing our rather absent-minded neighbour pruning a shrub, he crossed over and with great pride, held the bucket over the fence, saying, “Hello, Sam, look at these, the first of the season. Not bad, are they?” Sam took the bucket, admired them and, to…
