You don't need us to tell you there's a general election coming.

So what does it mean for you?

Every day on newscast we dissect the big talking points,

the ones that you want to know more about.

With our book of contacts, we talk directly to the people you want to hear from.

And with help from some of the best BBC journalists,

we'll untangle the stories that matter to you.

Join me, Laura Kunsberg, Adam Fleming, Chris Mason and Patty O'Connell for our daily podcast.

Newscast, listen on BBC Sounds. For at least 5,000 years, people around the world have cultivated lettuce leaves.

A food with an ancestry that can be

traced from the ancient Egyptians through to Greek and Roman civilizations and on to us.

No wonder some people have a thing about eating leaves.

I used to close my laptop, take my chopping board, my knife, my salad spinner,

and I was just working with my hands in this kind of moment of

mindfulness, like a meditation in a way.

More meditations on salad making in the office lunch break in a moment because what we're focusing on in

this edition is how our relationship with the lettuce and salad leaves is changing at a faster pace

than at any other time in our 5,000 year-long love affair with them,

so much so that we can expect to see more and more acres of land in the UK transformed into carpets of green. As we look under cover stretching out in front of us, a lush green picture of row after row, of leaf after leaf, after leaf.

And supplying an industry that will see record sales this year, Britain has become the bagged salad capital of Europe.

We could produce anything up to 8 tons a day of baby leaf on this line at any one time.

That would equate to approximately 100,000 bags of baby leaf in a day.

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