We report at the shorter end of the afternoon: the light has come to glaze the world with honey. Though it is the coldest it has been since the early morning, there is a warmth to the clear sky. Our expert is still looking for the presence of clouds somewhere - typical behaviour.

We report: for the second time now, we struggle in our attempt to button up our coat with our numb fingers. There is a robin hopping around the feet of bare bushes, rummaging through sodden leaves for worms. There is that complicated smell of white rot fungus in the air.

We report long past our bedtime, whatever it is meant to be: the moon has prematurely vanished from the night sky, and we unfortunately do not have the patience to seek it out for very long. The clouds are moving at a leisurely pace, and we feel rather sleepy.