Yesterday I realised it was mid-October and I hadn't yet done anything about picking the apples off the tree. I haven't heard the usual stuff about autumn coming later every year; perhaps all bets are off after this year's weather. At least Broadcasting House had the decency to invite Michael Fish on this morning to relive that little breeze of twenty years ago. (At least, up North it was just a bit breezy; but now I know how little it takes to make the South of England grind to a halt.) So now we have three crates full of Bramleys in various stages of packing for storage, and there are plenty more still on the tree. It fruits heavily every other year, with very little the years in-between.