Tomorrow – the first day of June – is the official start of winter in Tasmania. I like the way the seasons are marked so precisely into three month chunks here.

Autumn has been glorious. The sunsets over the last few weeks have taken our breath away, and the daylight hours have had a real crispness to them. Most of the rain has come at night. On the few overcast days we’ve had, the river has looked all the lovelier, infused with a glittering silver light. The mist here, when it swirls like magic down the Derwent, is called Bridgewater Jerry. It creeps through the pillars of the Tasman Bridge, stealing it from sight for an hour or two, but it’s nothing like Edinburgh where the haar descends for days and chills you right down to the marrow.

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