Red cabbages

Last night I stayed in a pub in Thetford where Dad's Army was filmed (actually I think I was drinking in Pike's Bar) taking to a guy who worked for Damian Hurst. In the middle of the night I woke up to shouting, looked out my window to see two semi-naked men (and this on a night of sub-zero temperatures) wrestling in the street. I yelled at them to be quiet and one of them screamed back at me in a eastern European language, his eyes glinting. All very thrilling for a Monday night in East Anglia.

After an interview with lovely Patrick Barkham for my Stig programme in Norwich, I took the long and winding road out of the fens in extraordinary winter sunlight. I passed hooded gangs of potato pickers bent double and was reminded of the sketches made by Rembrandt in the nineteenth century. How little has changed. I snapped this field of red cabbages waiting to be harvested and thought how little we know of the graft that goes into growing and harvesting our food. We should all be made to work on the fields for a week in winter. It would see food waste cut entirely.