It’s all about crisp mornings and red moons and skeins of geese flying away. I do love this time of year, especially when it is dry and there is not an almighty wind blowing us inside out. We dutifully went out and stared at the sky last night in an attempt to see the blood moon, but to no avail. Way way up above the buildings I saw a tiny pin prick of a star or two, but central Edinburgh is not the place to see such wonders. Instead we shared the delights on TV this morning.

Yesterday we strolled down the Water of Leith and I noticed the brambles and hawthorn berries almost ready to harvest and the rose hips are fat and waiting to be collected. I have big plans for foraging soon, and shall make tinctures and cordials for the winter ailments to come.

Last week we went to see the film ‘Everest’, and we sat through the epic, our hearts racing at the precarious crossing of crevices on skinny ladders that had been roped together, and horrible climbs over slippery ice-packed rocks. After the inevitable avalanches and frost bite and altitude sickness and death, we came out emotionally wrung out, and said, ‘WHY?’ I went back to the George Mallory book, and again marvelled at the man and his achievements. This is all relevant because the next day John and I joined the St John’s walking group to climb Ben Lomond.

We took along our new Brazilian friends, Silvia and Laercio, who we met in Spain earlier this year when we walked the Andalusian trails in the hot Spanish sunshine.

It was quite a contrast to climb high above the famous Loch Lomond on the ptarmigan path that literally goes up and up and up, to the final scramble to the top.

Needless to say the summit was cloaked in mist and cloud so the view was zero, but we all did it, and lived to tell the tale.

I so loved the colours, and kept humming the tune of ‘the cares of tomorrow’ about bracken turning gold in the sun, and rowans were scarlet and the heather deep purple on rock! We tramped and talked and gasped and stared about, and the company was nice, the views incredible, and another Monroe was conquered.

The next day I lay like an invalid with every muscle and sinew in my body screaming in agony. It took me nearly a week to walk properly without hirpling from side to side. John was marginally better than me, and went off to do his Park Run on Saturday, hoping to better his ‘personal best’ for the run of 5 kms; he fell mid-way and gouged out two holes in his knee and one in the palm of his hand. He valiantly got up and continued, and still achieved a new PB! I was seriously impressed, for if it had been me I would have demanded an ambulance. He is recovering, and I can walk again, so all is well.

I had a marathon cook on Saturday and made an epic Asian Lunch, comprising spring rolls, bun cha patties, prawn dim sum dumplings and chicken goyzo. Very nice, though I say so myself! Gerry came round and she is looking wonderful, blossoming and swelling like a happy mother-to-be. I have the knitting on the go, so it is all exciting times. This really is the season of mellow fruitfulness!

Natasha sent me a photo of her King Wa plant. I am so jealous. About twenty years ago I got a cutting of the plant from my mum. She got it from someone from Malaysia, and it has grown straggly and gangly in all of our various homes. Tasha had a cutting, Gerry looked after mine for a while, then I took another cutting and mine looks magnificent but has never flowered.

Tasha’s looks all dusty and neglected and I always scowl at it when I visit and suddenly, lo and behold… she gets a mighty bud, fat and succulent, and then in the moonlight it opened.

By morning it was all over. The beautiful flower has folded and its magical moment has passed. When I move, my plant is going to sit on the floor facing the sea, where no curtain will shield it from the moonlight, so hopefully it will perform.

That is all for now. World Cup Rugby is dominating our screens and I actually put down my knitting to cheer on the Scots during their brilliant match against the US. Good stuff!