Peas in Winter

As soon as I saw them I knew I had to have them. I couldn't believe it. I've never seen them in the deep dark depths of winter before.

Peas. In pods. From Italy. And these were none of your mangetout peas - though I like those too. These were proper, honest-to-goodness fresh peas: though probably a slightly different variety from the ones grown here as their pods were longer.

I love them. They taste of summer sunshine. But I'd never cook them - oh no, they've got to be raw.

So I bought a whole bagful and scoffed the lot whilst watching Coronation Street. They were fantastic. It was like a small moment of July.

As sins go, it would seem, on the face of it, pretty minor. Though, when I start to think about it - and I chose not to, I admit - how did they get here from Italy? Did they roll? No, I think not - they flew here in an aeroplane, making a small yet significant contribution to global warming as they did so.

So it's me that's wrecking the planet, me and my winter peas. Sorry, everyone.

And yet, I think I have a bit of an excuse, because the number of air miles that I've flown in a plane myself is really rather smaller than average.

To Italy and back three times as a child. To Germany once as an adult. To Amsterdam three times - well, perhaps four. And that's it. I must be one of the UK's Least Flown Persons.

So I hope the planet will forgive me a few peas.