Sometimes you smell them before you see them. These people carry a particular scent. It is worthy and rich but with a suggestion of the fetid – like creamy milk that is on the verge of turning sour. I don’t want to be rude about them because they are nice folk and I am one of them. I own a fruit tree. And I can’t get rid of the fruit.
Every autumn the world divides into those with fruit trees and those without. The latter have to be on high alert for the people bearing fruit. A friend, a colleague, even a passing stranger can stage an ambush. Before you know it, they will have whipped out a bag of their produce and thrust it under your nose so that particular smell assaults your senses. “Help yourself,” they say. “Ooh, lovely!” you are forced to exclaim. It’s the simple gift there is no polite way to refuse.
