Living in the country, surrounded by green open space and few diversions, I seem to spend my days in a state of peaceful distraction. I think therefore I digress. It all seems so mild and favourable out there. Just the thought of what to have for dinner is quite engrossing. I've even started to convert some of the fields into dinner. I'm expanding the vegetable zones and starting to think about sowing some grain crops in spring. As a part of my gentle scheme, I was all set to get some geese at the Moreton-in-marsh agricutural show on Saturday. My frined Paddy has a goose, a goose called Christmas. He also has a duck called Cripsy. His horse is called Brian, lucky for Brian, I reckon. I called Paddy and asked him how they were all getting on. He gave it some thought, I could hear him thinking. He said that geese were certainly nice as long as you feed them every day, if it isn't you who feeds them, then they bite you on the bottom when they see you. They seem to be very specific about this. That is not the kind of atmosphere I was seeking so I decided to stick with vegetables for the moment. Back in the kitchen, for our delight, Mona, the German au pair was working on the sauerkraut. It was her granny's special formula and it was quite involved, although not as involved as her mother's recipe for ceremonial cheese soup, but that doesn't come into this story. A consignment of special cabbage had arrived from Germany and trips to the supermarket in Stow, the organic wonderland at Daylesford and the butchers in Chadlinton followed but we were still short of the ingredients to the tune of three juniper berries. We had the two kinds of paprika, the all spice, the marbled pork and goodness what else, but to get the kraut perfectly sauer, she really wanted those berries, for granny's sake. I knew there was a juniper bush in the garden somewhere. I'd heard the gardener muttering about it. He holds the whole juniper family in low esteem. He is a runner beans man. I went sauntering in search of juniper. There was a bush I didn't recognise in the vegetable patch with some nice fat berries on it and ever hopeful, I tried one. It was quite bitter, so I didn't swallow it, thinking I'd come back when they were a bit riper. Then by a cosmic conjunction serendipity, synchronicity and shopping I came across the complete guide to British berries in a second hand bookshop and it was become my bedtime read of choice, ahead of the screwfix D.I.Y. catalogue and even the new studiospares directory. I've had my eye out for a berry book for ages. As I suspected, there are berries for just about everything. Funnily enough, the book falls open naturally at a picture of the shrub that I found in the vegetable patch. All of a sudden, I remerbered what a juniper bush looked like. It said that the unripe fruit I'd nibbled, atropa belladonna or deadly nightshade causes more deaths than any other berry. When mature, the berries are sweet, and five are enough to kill a child. Most deadly berries make your mouth foam and your eyes roll when you chew them, but not this one. I dug it up immediately in a cold sweat. It must have been there for years, the root system was extensive. I should have worn gloves. My hands itched and tingled for two days. Daily we dice with death, even in Oxfordshire. Mona found the berries in the deli in chipping norton. Excellent sauerkraut. --

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