Autumn is upon us. I can tell this because we had a roast chicken. Food should be seasonal, and a roast Sunday dinner marks the drawing in of nights. A bottle of rose petal wine, particularly one as tasty as this, was the perfect accompaniment. It has a fragrant taste and is the correct level of dryness. As was the day itself. I spent some of it in the sunshine picking elderberries, much of it in our dining room stripping the same off their stalks, and a fraction of the rest practising the bassoon. I appear to have volunteered to play a solo at Music Club. That was careless.