Not Blackberry Picking
Every year me and my chums used to plunder the fields and hedgerows of Barnet, braving big crabby spiders and their sticky webs and tall magic nettles that seemed to be able to throw their stings into you from great distances, to fill tupperware boxes with blackberries. The berries seemed to disintegrate as soon as you picked them, and they made your fingers purple and sticky, and you couldn't eat 'em without washing them first in case a dog had walked along and widdled on the blackberry bushes (I saw it once, and that was that). But o the joy of getting home, switching on the oven, mixing some flour, sugar and butter and making a blackberry crumble straight away and eating it straight away with lashings of cream to mix into the juice and make it bright pink.
And the smug snicker in the supermarket, looking at teensy weensy boxes of blackberries priced at two quid!