ON the south coast, on these sun-kissed days, one can listen to the cries of the terns as they soar, brilliant against the sky, and then drop, spinning like sycamore samaras, to take sandeels from the surface of the sea.

ON some mornings last week the slight chill in the air and the golden sunlight would make one believe autumn, “season of mists and mellow fruitfulness”, had already arrived.