I took a summer walk to Preston Market today. Preston has intensely localised character and atmosphere. From one street to the next the streetscape and vernacular architecture, not to mention the pride with which homes and gardens are maintained, vary enormously. One street is lined with run-down ex-housing commision circa 1954, while the next will be immaculate Californian bungalows complete with late model Subaru in the driveway. (Have you noticed that the symbolic meaning once attached to Volvo has migrated to Subaru?)

Anyhow, the Market itself is full to the brim with cheap and yummy food but a nightmare to get around in - each corner has what seems to be the same stall selling slip-on shoes and old-guy button down cardigans. Nearby there will always be some old guys in said knitwear smoking and drinking coffee at a table. Once you are there it is hard to work out direction and this hapless shopper tends to find herself going outside again just to get her bearings. However, I did walk away with some very fine flat bread and two enormous and juicy salmon fillets which Darren cooked with sumac tonight...