I had a daughter during one of the bone-cold early months of this year, which means that my full-time job is now to produce a yield. Between the hours of dawn and midnight, with a few lactic minutes in between, I am a feeding machine for a new person.
And it is this, perhaps, that has led to my somewhat strange new eating habits. Pregnancy may traditionally be the time associated with cravings and aversions – the old cliches of sardines and jam, coal and creosote, bread and crackers. But here, in my postnatal feeding frenzy, I’m eating nettles by the handful. I am chomping on sticky weed. I have been biting the heads off dandelions (bitter – like really serious dark chocolate) and sucking the nectar from inside honeysuckle. This recent chlorophyll gala has, of course, coincided with England’s greatest month: May. Some of us love the look of May, some of us enjoy the smells. But for me, this year, the greatest heady, verdant, leaf-rich pleasure of my life is to eat May by the bushel.
