So, peeling that piece of Ginger was doing my head in, because I wasn’t really looking. I was somewhere in the future.

But I could have been right there, enjoying what I was supposed to be doing. And I could have followed the trail of the moment in at least some of the directions in which it could take me.

And I might have realised, as I focussed on the job in hand, that Ginger had an ancient relative, who at some point had been “discovered” by an ancient relative of mine. My relative at one time had tasted a piece of it, accidentally or on purpose, for the first time, and found out that it didn’t kill them. And, then, that it tasted better without the skin. Perhaps, later, that it combined well with other foods. And that it could help to relieve an unsettled stomach.

And all that led to it becoming a part of the diet in parts of Asia.

Later it became discovered again by my more immediate ethnic ancestors, who were off seeking far off places, in search of wealth and power, and using their existing wealth and power over the people they met. And Ginger became a part of their lives and their business plans, and found its way to this part of the world, and a part of our diets. And eventually a part of my diet.

Now, somewhere out there, somebody is earning a living, hopefully not a subsistence living, by growing Ginger.

And somebody else is earning a living by transporting it across the seas in huge ships that would have blown the mind of my ancient ancestor. And then further on by a lorry driver. And the warehouse assistant. And the till operator. And so on.

And that’s just one trail, with a multitude of other paths that shot off along the way. I might have been entertained by the stories that piece of ginger could have told.

Or I could have simply enjoyed the sensations and concerns of peeling it. The awkwardness of finding a way round its strange, knobby shape. The unique tangy fragrance reaching the nostrils. Making sure the peel fell in the bin and not on the floor, saving time later. Noticing the furry texture at the ends…not quite flesh, not quite skin. Anticipating its part in the taste of the curry I was preparing.

But I was rushing to the next thing, and I didn’t have time for any of that.