1. After school, sneak into the old-neighbours-down-the-road’s overgrown garden and scrump for apples. Scoff the imperfect, yet sweet and crispy, pesticide-free booty quickly and guiltily as you walk home, then chuck the cores into mad Barry, the night security guard’s back yard just to wind his dog up and hopefully disturb the grumpy b*****d. Run off with your mates, giggling.
2. Steal some pieces of strawberry from Auntie Sheila’s Pimms when she comes round to watch Wimbledon with Mum on a hot June afternoon. Suck all the alcohol out and drop the pieces back into her glass. (Spit any pieces of mint out onto the patio. The vile, pointless bits of shrubbery)
3. Eat the cold custard and tinned fruit that great granny gives you for pudding after your fish fingers when you go to visit. But make sure to take out anything suspicious-looking (beware bright colours) and give to Frankie the sausage dog. (Don’t tell anyone what you did when Frankie has squits later)
4. Never leave a jam doughnut unfinished. If you’re getting full up at teatime and you know there’s a jam doughnut for afters, leave your broccoli to save room. Jam is one of your 5-a-day. There’s a lot of raspberry in it. And we all know raspberries are full of something good for you.
5. If you’re oop tuh Narth, gert big lashings of tomato ketchup on yer pie ull see you right when yer allotment gets sold by tuh council to make way for a mini supermarket. Luckily tuh new shop will also sell mooshy peas.
6. If you live in the West Country (arr) get a job in a cream tea parlour and steal all the strawberry jam, me lovelies. Them grockels doan have a clue how they’m sposed to eat a cream tea any road. Fruit for life, I tell ee, fruit for life. Proper job.
I didn’t know whether to write this as a British or English guide. So my apologies to any grumpy Scots out there who have never heard of a strawberry and might be insulted by being included.
Cornish people: You are British and you are English. Stop pretending you’re anything else. But apologies to any posh people on the Isles of Scilly who may have managed to grow Kiwis against their south-facing walls and don’t need any advice. You do know Kiwis are in fact the hairy boll**ks of dead wizards though, of course? (Scilly people believe all that mythical stuff….and love being called posh.)