I was randomly selected by the NHS and Ipsos Mori to do a home Covid test today, and was asked to have my neat little cardboard box containing a plastic bag labelled biohazard, containing a plastic vial labelled with my personal barcode, containing a stick containing the real biohazard, all ready for collection first thing. So by 7.30 am I made my morning cup of tea smug that my day's contribution to medical research was already done.

The rest of the day was a frustration of admin and forms, with a foray into the garden to see whether this unknown self-seeded plant that I found in July among the tomatoes, which eventually identified itself as physalis by producing these delicate lanterns, might at long last be turning orange as it should have done in October. Not the faintest hint of orange. I fear now that it will keel over in the cold without ever realising that autumn was its time.