I’m roasting my chestnuts as I type this.

I like roast chestnuts. And there are few things more satisfying than eating food that you not only prepared yourself, but which passed through no other hands between yours and Mother Nature’s, so a few weeks ago I came up with a plan to collect some chestnuts from beneath the nearest chestnut tree, roast them over an open fire - or possibly in the oven - and eat. What I didn’t know is that eating-chestnuts are one thing, and conker-chestnuts quite another, and whereas the first are healthful, tasty and entirely non-toxic, the latter ought to have a skull and crossbones stamped on them and wouldn’t be much worse for you if they’d been injected with arsenic.

Fortunately I didn’t get round to doing it for a few weeks due to laziness, and then I happened to off-handedly mention the plan to my mum, who quite possibly saved my life by informing me of the above. And before anyone jumps to conclusions, Jess doesn’t like chestnuts, so this wasn’t another attempt to do her in.

My chestnuts will be ready soon. I got them from Tesco.

Speaking of cockerels, just down the road from us is Cockerill - The Potato People. I’ve driven past it most days for the last year, and I rather like it, because it always reminds me of my former life, and thus how much better my current one is.

The reason it reminds me of my former life is that I used to work with a chap called Ian Cockerill who looked exactly like a potato. I presume that’s where they got him from.

I hope he never googles for his own name.