‘Pick Your Own’…I’ve often wondered about that line

When I see the announcement on a roadside sign.

It seems somehow rude, like ‘shut-up’ or ‘bum’

But then my sons often say “you’re too sensitive mum”.

But it does seem quite stark, telling you what you should do,

But I cannot deny I’m the first in the queue

When it comes time for picking my own fresh produce,

From luscious red strawberries or gooseberries for mousse.

I get myself in there, in the thick of the bush;

Oi! That’s my punnet, move over mush!

My etiquette gone, I search for the best,

The reddest, the fattest, and of course juiciest.

And searching for raspberries, there’s no holding back,

I’m like David Bellamy through the forest I hack,

Reaching and grabbing, rummage and hoard

‘til I’ve filled up my punnet, my arms scratched and sore.

Then triumphant I land my huge catch with aplomb,

But discover my wallet’s at home…Oh bum!