Autumn? Surely not

"Happy afternoons of late summer and early autumn, scrabbling about among the brambles to secure a glossy bounty of blackberries while vicious thorns scratched our purple-stained fingers, are, for many of us, our first experiences of food for free. Somehow, battling the prickles made the fruit all the more precious as we triumphantly brought it home for tea." Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall

It's been pretty cool of late - last night we all huddled around each other in the lounge - some of us wrapped in quilts, it was so cold. It's February which should be high summer - the time when we are all fearing major bush fires - and indeed in other parts of Australia that is indeed what is happening. But here in Melbourne we are currently shivering. Mind you, it is Melbourne and in a day's time we are back to temperatures in the 30s.

I'm not complaining but today I noticed two signs that autumn is on its way. One is the little batch of blackberries that I harvested from our garden, and the other is the hawthorn trees I passed on my walk this morning that were covered in berries. The leaves haven't started changing colour and falling though - not that most of our trees do this because they are mostly Australian natives that don't do this. They just drop leaves all year.

So blackberries. Coincidentally I had been catching up with Nigel Slater's Kitchen Diaries and he had used his blackberries for a marinade for pork. I don't think I shall be as ambitious - I'll just make blackberry and apple crumble - for we bought a whole lot of Granny Smith apples which need using.

The Australians are not fans of blackberries - because they basically completely take over if they get a hold - so I really should be up the top of the garden there trying to remove them, or before too long it will be all blackberries and nothing else. We do not go blackberrying here, because most of the blackberries beside the roads or in parks have been sprayed with some devastating weed killer which would kill us too. Which is a pity is it not? When I was a child it was a really fun thing to do to go out blackberrying in spite of the prickles and the stained fingers. I wonder why we thought that was so enjoyable? the prickles were really quite painful. And everything got stained. My sieve (I washed them only to find that I shouldn't have done) and the bowl shown in the picture are now slightly stained. When we lived in Adelaide we had a hillside full of them and I did pick them there. We had so many that I made a liqueur out of them. And we were thinking of getting goats to eat them - because apparently they love them. You tie the goats to a tyre, throw the tyre into the middle of the blackberries and leave the goat to eat their way to the middle. But we never got the chance to try it out because we moved back to Melbourne.

So the pleasure of blackberrying has gone - until today!

"blackberries in a good season are as delicious as any of the related soft fruit we cultivate. After all, a basketful costs nothing except the pleasure of blackberrying; and there they are, ready to be eaten with sugar and cream by themselves, ready to add to breakfast muesli, ready to combine with apples, ready for tarts and pasties, for jam, jelly. And ready for some jeu d'esprit like the pheasant and bramble recipe later in the section, or a sauce with duck." Jane Grigson (or Nigel Slater's pork)

Hugh Fearnley Whittingstall has three interesting recipes for a compote with pancakes and bacon, a cake and a cordial. He also suggests freezing them - spread them out on a tray and freeze them before bagging them.

And he also comments on how expensive they are to buy when they are available for free on any spare patch of land. And I must say I have often thought the same myself.

And to finish - apparently you shouldn't pick them after Michaelmas - which is September 29 over there. Well it is here too - but there aren't any blackberries here then. Here the appropriate date would be March 29. And why?

"the devil claims them by stamping, spitting or pissing on them. How childish of him… Batey, batey, wuss, wuss, wooh (as we said at school)." Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall

Don't pick them here though unless you are sure of their provenance or you may find they have been poisoned and you might die! So the devil might well get the last laugh.