The top fruit harvest is like having your birthday on Christmas day. Nothing for 12 months and then all the bounty arrives in one day. A few days ago I was squeezing pears and fondling plums, picking off the odd one that was ripe and anticipating the glut. This morning all the plums are suddenly, simultaneously, squishily ripe and most of the small pear crop is on the grass, being devoured by wasps that clearly know better than I do when fruit is ripe. The Bramley and Monarch cooking apples are dropping every few minutes like large green bombs, bouncing ominously on the grass. Only the acidic Spartans and pock-marked James Grieve apples from a canker stricken tree are yet to peak. Shame the tree listed as a Discovery turned out to be another Spartan. It’ll have to be replaced, one fine day.

So it’s plums for breakfast, lunch, snacks and pudding. Yes, I know I could freeze them, preserve them and make creative puddings. But I’d much rather give myself stomachache eating them by the tub load straight off the tree.