IN THE last few weeks my face has changed colour so many times that I am contemplating contacting Dulux and offering myself as a walking colour chart.

It has moved from an angry red, to a blue and then onto a rather tasteful green, as the bruising from my bike fall has emerged.

If I have learnt anything from the experience of colliding with a lamp post it is this - do it in the daytime and never admit to people that you were under the influence of a glass of wine at the time.

The sympathy dries up almost immediately and "oh how dreadful" is replaced with a rather knowing "oh, so you had been drinking".

The one silver lining in the whole experience is that I was wearing boots and not the gold shoes that I often cycle to town in. The bruises will heal but the thought of scuffing a gold shoe would just be too much to bear.

General stiffness has meant that the planned autumn dig has been put off and may yet be renamed the winter dig.

But there is still much to occupy me on the plot. I have been wondering how I can bring up the subject of raspberries without it sounding too much like I am bragging. I have concluded that I can’t, so here goes.

My raspberries are huge, juicy and the bushes are unbelievably prolific.

It is an embarrassment of riches and I am tempted to visit the allotment under the cover of darkness to save other growers the indignity of watching me trot home with overflowing bowls of the red jewels.

The variety is Autumn Bliss and bliss just about sums up how I feel when I harvest them.

And so this Rural Idle is content. I may not be able to ride a bike in a straight line but I believe I have the best raspberries in town.