Last weekend, I went to a farm. A friend and I picked apples, chillies, peppers, cauliflower, raspberries, and tomatoes, popping berries into our mouths and crunching down on the waxy skins of apples along the way. After a few hours, we had our hand-selected produce weighed, paid what was due, and exited back out to the entrance of the property. I smoked a cigarette whilst my friend took out the croissants, soup-in-thermos, cheese and ham we had prepared for lunch and, given that there were n...