All the things I can't write

but intend to

Bonne weekend! Isn’t it glorious out? The sumac tree is orange (ludicrously so), the leaves are crisp, and my trainers are sitting in a tray of bleach. Because said leaves - so crunchy, so appealing - were hiding something unmentionable in the field. (Plastic-gloved scrubbing with Dettol wipes was sadly not enough.)

I have, on driving past a woman carefu…