I could never remember the code. It didn’t matter though: it was little effort to sling first my bag and then myself over the low gate. I wondered why the Association bothered with the padlock at all.

I made my way down through the plots, pausing every now and then to admire the neat straight lines of number 19’s onions, the twisted spirals of 23’s peas, and the cheery sunflowers of 34. Our plot stood out like a sore thumb – we’re talking about a thumb that’s been mistaken for a nail once too often. A wild, unruly tangle of thorns that threatened to overspill their assigned territory.

I grimaced to myself as I spied a huddle of nettles by the water trough, waiting in line for their next victim. These ones had flowers, though. I recalled an old friend once telling me that the nettles with flowers didn’t sting: they were a different sub-species, a dead nettle. I battled the temptation to run my finger along its toothed leaves; better not to chance it.

Right, to work. Placing my bag down on the tufty green border of the plot, I pulled out a large mixing bowl. Then began the arduous task of picking our bounty. Snaking my hand through the thick brambles to slide the ripest of raspberries from their stalks, leaving behind dimpled cream cones.

My mouth watered as I continued to work and I couldn’t resist popping the odd berry in, flattening the fruit against my palate with my tongue to stop the seeds from getting stuck in my teeth, letting the juice burst out. By the time I had finished, my hands were scratched and stained, but the bowl was full, heaped with a pile of knobbly ruby gems.

A jam perhaps? Maybe a pavlova stacked high with them – that is, if I could find the time. I gently flicked an aphid off one, then sat down on the bench. I didn’t want to go home. Not yet. Just wanted to stay and sit a while in this safe little estate, tucked away in sage little suburbia. So, I sat and gorged myself instead, knowing that however many berries I’d eat, an abundance would still remain.

The drop in temperature was my cue. I meandered back to the path and hauled myself and my winnings over the gate. I glanced back for a second and watched as the sun slowly kissed the horizon, and the allotment, the plants, and the raspberries were swallowed by the night.