I’ve had a complicated relationship with figs ever since I discovered a dried one in my lunchbox as a five-year-old. I still remember sobbing outside the staffroom as my little friends Bernie and Jean-Ann explained to the teacher in shocked tones that Lucy’s mother had given her a wet teabag for morning tea.
Luckily, the trauma passed (it only took about 20 years) and now I’ll take figs any way I can get them. The trouble is, the birds get to the ones growing in my garden far quicker than I can - and figs’ fragility means they don’t do well in the rough and tumble of supermarkets. If you find a laden tree or a friendly supplier, nurture them lovingly because fig season is short. You never know when you might need them.