There are times when my alter ego surfaces and the urge to create something silly manifests itself. And so it did today. Walking back to the car this afternoon, autumn is really gathering apace. Leaves are now falling steadily, and although the days still feel like summer (the driest and warmest September so far since 1960) the sepia confetti littering the ground tells a different story. Crunch crunch crunch the feet trod through an endless sea of beechmast. I picked up a few as I walked and then pausing by a tired looking horse chestnut, a ripe conker, joined by an about to emerge shining beauty. The plan was born. In Somerset as autumn advances the wee folks emerge from under low shrubs and thickets to practice a pastime known as conker knocking. Modesty prevents me from explaining the rules, and yet adorned with beechmast hats and a grin to scatter a thousand fairies, for millennia these woodland folk have celebrated the bounty of Mother Earth. I was lucky enough to meet these shy retiring chaps as they rehearsed for the all Wessex Knock-a-Conker Finals at Stone Allerton. Fierce rivalry will bring forth many a bruised ego, yet by sundown the calm of the woods will once again envelope what promises to be a lively competition. I just hope I don't meet the one at the back on a moonlit walk home from the pub.
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