I’ve spent much of the last week picking, then sorting through berries, making, straining and freezing various compotes and conserves, washing and batch-cooking chard and spinach, podding and shelling broad beans. I’m not having a granny summer, a Sydney Sweeney summer or a nun girl summer (all of which I’ve seen suggested as themes for 2026); I’m having a tradwife summer. It’s basically Ballerina Farm here, without the rosy-cheeked, tousle-haired children, raw milk or plane-company-heir husband – and my tomatoes aren’t even ripe........

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