To pick blackberries, that is. According to a letter in the Daily Telegraph (I can explain, honest), the Devil spat on them all yesterday.
I found that a great comfort, having gathered a pound or so last weekend. But then I looked a bit further into the tradition. Seems that he did it on Michaelmas Day which was nearly a fortnight ago.
The blackberry and pear crumble was still lovely, though.
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