The wind in my hair

Went up to the allotment briefly to feel the wind in my hair. Great clouds scudding across the sky. No-one else around at all.

Picked a handful of autumn raspberries and ate a couple of windfall apples. They are nearly finished now, just a few red apples dotted through the trees, picking up the colour of the hips on the rose between them.

Inspected the swiss chard, not too holey, and the leeks and spinach. The latter not doing well at all. Have had no luck with spinach at all this year, it has either bolted or failed to grow at all. So much for winter spinach.

Took a stroll round the allotments, stepping over a vast sunflower that had fallen across my neighbour's path. I wanted to see if there were fruit on the quince tree. Nothing. Last year the fruits were stunning - great golden, gnarled fruits that glowed in the autumn light and stood out in sharp relief against the deep green leaves. I was disappointed, too late maybe.

Saw the old Irish guy mending his fruit cage. He shouted something to me that I couldn't hear, partially his accent, partially the wind blocking out his voice. I nodded agreement and carried on.