I seem to have developed a fetish for condiment making. I get like this when I have spent too long away from the great love of my life. I begin to make things. Edible things. In my fridge are jars of chutney. Lots and lots of jars of chutney. Date chutney. Spicy apple and walnut chutney. Pumpkin and smoked paprika chutney. Apricot and orange chutney. Each sets itself apart from the next by the company it keeps. My apricot chutney likes to share the platter with plump English sausages. The pumpkin chutney has designs on my popped open pita breads and some fresh rocket! The spicy apple and walnut chutney is content in the company of a good English cheddar and a New Zealand Chardonnay. And the date chutney? Well actually that is a great worry to me. My wayward child so to speak. One day I might know more about the company it prefers to keep. But for now I simply worry.