Blossom End Rot.

I have had this apple slowly maturing on a radiator for a few months now and now feel that it has ripened sufficiently to have earned its position in the annals of Blipfoto, though I must admit that cooked beetroot produces much more interesting and colourful results; in fact, a friend wrote a very amusing poem for the writing group inspired by  one of my beetroot photographs.
 
Now that I think of it, Mrs TD took half a tin of baked beans out of the fridge the other day, presumably on the basis that it was no longer the most hygienic place for them, and left them on the kitchen worktop. Not being one to let such an opportunity pass by, I have saved them for a rainy day, and hidden them in a secret nook or cranny.
 
There is, of course, a Limerick for every conceivable occasion:
      There was a young lady from Hyde,
      Who ate some bad apples, and died.
            Inside our lamented,
           The apples fermented,
      And made cider inside her inside.