Gamone strawberries

At this time of the year at Gamone, it has always been a delightful early-morning ritual for me to pick and eat a handful of strawberries, chilled by the night air. I have to move swiftly, otherwise various equally-avid insect consumers are ready to attack. That's to say, strawberries at Gamone have no time to grow old. Nipped in the bud. They are sensual fruit. Authentic nymphs. This morning, I was amused to discover this juvenile "topless" specimen, which I devoured voraciously, with concupiscence, straight after taking the photo:

Let's call a spade a spade. As far as young strawberries are concerned, I tend to be a pedophile werewolf. I'm so evil in an Epicurean way that I don't even give my young strawberries a chance of maturing. Now, having made this coming-out, I'm aware that this image of a nubile strawberry is likely to be banned in my native land of Australia by the censorship services of Stephen Conroy, acting in liaison with countless Catholic clerics. But I bet the bastards like strawberries.