Cardamom poached pears, a 2nd class ticket to Nottingham, and carrying a koala

Abundance: Wednesday 24 January 2024

I’m not interested in the garden. I don’t want to get up. I don’t want to leave the house. And my brain is looking for biscuits and brownie while my body craves greenery and fruit.

I’m not sure why the discombobulation. It might be that while the urge for edible comfort lessens as the days lengthen, the carb habit dies hard; that in the garden, there’s only the last of the frostbitten chicory and some excellent chard to harvest; and these dark mornings most certainly aren’t calling me out for an early loop. If I’m going outside, it will be for sunlight hitting the sea.

I bought some pears. I hoped they might cure the outofsortsness. Pears are proper winter fruit. I like that they are a little contrary: most varieties need time in cool storage after picking, followed by a spell in the house where they usually ripen and go over in the half hour it takes you to pop to the shops.

No matter how long I live, I will never be confident biting into a pear. Will it be succulent and juicy, over the top and wooly, or will I be left with teeth like a witchdoctor’s necklace?