There have been dirty deeds afoot on the plot. A thief, maybe more than one, breeching the defensive fences, cutting hasps and breaking into sheds, stealing brass and copper. We have got off lightly so far - two entries, stuff tumbled about, seed packets scattered, not a bean missing. He better watch out this burglar bill, because one of the more determined plot holders set up a camera (!) and caught him climbing in, miner's style lamp on his head. Times are hard, but there must surely be easier ways to make money.
Meanwhile I have been bean counting myself, a very satisfying pursuit, gently opening the crispy, crackling pods, and easing out the beans from their silky nests, squirreling them away for next spring. And taking stock of what must surely be the last crop of courgettes before the cold air sets a frost.
And we have been gradually bringing home our sacks and boxes of potatoes, a remarkably respectable crop which, unlike the tomatoes, escaped blight.
Pink ones, purple ones, yellow ones. Delicious mashed, baked, turned into champ with eggs on top. No idea which is which any more. The plot thickens - a bit like the old waistline will no doubt.