In our tiny vegetable patch we (when I say ‘we’, I mean Bob) have managed for the first time to grow a little crop of butternut squash. There are five or six of them, plus a mysterious green marrow-like interloper growing alongside, perhaps a rogue seed from the pack. It’s somehow astounding to see these fat, bulbous vegetables nestling beneath their canopy of leaves at the bottom of a small London garden. I associate butternut squash with American autumns, and keep going down to look at our squash, pale caramel in colour but no less robust-looking, calmly thriving in a damp English October.

We picked the first one yesterday, chopped it into chunks and baked it in the oven with butter and brown sugar. It had a more delicate flavour than we’re used to, but a lovely texture. And of course it was much more satisfying to eat than any shop-bought squash.