The Boss

I made my way to work on a clammy July morning via the dirty warm underground as per usual, upon which every passenger seemed to be developing an untimely cold or cough, with at least one weeping eye. It made me uneasy. A hand held a shredded tissue that failed in it's function, causing a snide seat wipe followed by a sneaky knee rub then finishing with a slide across and down the bars upon exit. An advert, funnily enough on a page from the metro read, British strawberries. British strawberries at a well known metro chain, I need at least 1 of my 5 a day now!

Stepping over the threshold of the well known metro chain, I was instantly face to fruit with WKMC's heavily advertised collection of British strawberries. It was big, vast even, and half price too! Then I drifted… Murray knocked out of Wimbledon, Lewis 10th on pole only to finish third, and then there's England…

UNEXPECTED ITEM IN BAGGING AREA! BLIP! BLIP!

repeated over and over in a demonic fashion.

Rudely awoken from my drift, I focused back on the task in hand, beautiful, sweet, perfectly seasonal, British strawberries, first place on anyones taste buds… Then I observed the anaemic patterned content of my desired punnet and read the label, grown in the USA.

¿Porque?