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It had to happen, really. No neighbourhood can claim to be truly on the map until it's got itself a farmer's market.

So on the way to the park, Clem and I shuffled along to mingle with the so solid redwing, parka and toddlers on a string crew to admire the earthy parsnips and squeeze a few deserving caulis. There was meat and treats and even egg-'n'-dairy-free cupcakes to tempt the NW6 control mothers off the path of righteousness and self-abnegation. And I just know that copies of the River Cafe Green book are being dusted off right about now as the eager shoppers figure out what in the name of god they're going to do with the 2kg of cavolo nero they simply had to buy.

Delicious Lincoln sausages sizzled courtesy of Grasmere Farm (Clemmie wolfed down two stuffed in a lovely squidgy bun).

Today felt the first real chill of autumn so a coffee wagon was a welcome sight. However the lattes it was selling were made with unpasteurised milk and when I (being seven months' pregnant and a bit sensitive on that front) inquired after bastardised pasteurised, I could have sworn I heard "bloody townie" passing the homespun barista's lips. Insult your market, that's a good plan, you Hertfordshire tosser. Any old how, it was kinda sweet seeing the worthy hordes of NW Sixers washing down their mutton burgers with a swiftie from Starbucks which has also moved in down the road, more proof if it were needed that Queen's Park est arrivé.

All bitching aside, I'll definitely be going back for Grasmere's Lincoln bangers, the leg roasts of Gloucester Old Spot and punnets of green tomatoes. And let's face it, three big green cabbages for £1.50 is a good deal no matter what your postcode.


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