I pull my duvet up around my ears, cold, despite the four walls around me. Bravely, I lower my feet over the side of the bed and pull on my dressing gown. Yawning and rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I open the curtains and am horror-struck. Frost is curling its icy fingers around everything in the garden - every leaf and surface glints in the misty morning sun. The nasturtiums have darkened and drooped overnight, and the dahlias are sparkling a final farewell.
My horror turns to an appreciative smile when I remember I have already taken in my tender crops. and there is no need to panic. My pumpkins and squashes are stored inside. My tomatoes have been canned,