This autumn seems to be a season of slanting sunshine and juicy colours.
I am in North London with my daughter Libby and we are discovering the joys of Stoke Newington. There are tempting book shops, quirky markets, vintage cafes and, to make my day complete, a shabby chic flower shop called Flowers N16.
At the back of the shop is a paved garden about to settle into winter, at the front, a wooden floored open space - slightly battered - but with great sploshes of colour.
Normally I like to see flowers come and go with the seasons, but here I can't help enjoying the muddled mix of end-of-season sunflowers and inappropriate tulips.
But for all the pleasure I gained from a foray into the city - home is where the heart is.
I am back at Pythouse Walled Garden, and in my opinion, nothing could be better.
It is the most perfect, warm autumn day and as I wander around with my camera, waiting for a friend to join me for lunch, I fall into conversation with a lady who has been drinking coffee in the sunshine. We both agree this is a very special place.
At Pythouse they are gathering in the pumpkins.
Some will go in the pumpkin and ginger soup.
Amanda, today's chef, emerges from the kitchen in search of another specimen, hair fetchingly tied up in a green and white stripey tea-towel bow.
The rest are ready for a pumpkin carving evening Mitch, the owner, has planned for young families at Halloween.
I am beginning to feel sorry that my girls are grown up and I become quite wistful watching the younger customers running up and down between the rows of herbs and vegetables.
Still, it won't be long before my girls will be back for the weekend and I can bring them over for coffee or lunch. There will be no noses to wipe, laces to tie, or endless questions to answer; so I suppose getting older does have its compensations.