It was while wandering through Lincoln's Inn (home to London's top barristers) that we came across the mulberry tree. I doubt we would have taken any notice, had it not been for the wine-coloured staining beneath the tree.
Investigating (basically, looking upwards) Chris spotted something and before you could say, "crumble" my friends were all sucking on the black jewelled berries. It took some coaxing, but eventually I tried one.
Holy Moly - the first fix was fantastic. We are talking here of a taste sensation.
After stripping the lower branches, our hands were stained with the blood-red juice. Any legal types peering from adjacent windows, might have thought they were watching a re-enactment of the assassination of Caesar.
Desperate for a mulberry pie and disappointed that I knew so little of this fruit, I did some research.
I now understand that the mulberry is like the Gareth Bale of the fruit world: expensive, awkward to tackle, good in short bursts but delicate and prone to collapse. All of which explains why supermarket managers are nervous about paying over the odds for this wonder fruit.