I had checked in on the children and there were all fast asleep and that delicious sense of early morning peace was pervading the whole house. As the clock ticked, our golden retreiver Bella and our elderly ginger cat Fudge were fast asleep by the Aga and did not stir as I waited for the coffee to brew.
I had been grocery shopping the evening before and the warm kitchen was full of good things. On the pine dresser sat a Majolica dish of fat, purple plums and when you peered closer you could discern the bloom on their skin and catch the intoxicating scent of autumn. A jute sack of red apples was propped in the corner that had been delivered by to us by Mr Timms, a friendly neighbour from down the lane.
As I gazed through the widow at my beautiful garden, my eyes rested for a moment on my mother’s antique copper jug, full of purple chrysanthemums that I had picked the day before.
The air was like wine that morning as I knelt to lift the brightly coloured impatiens from their summer home. They had made a spectacular show all through the summer in their beds against the old brick wall that wound sedately around the front garden. The mellow ancient brickwork acted as a storage heater for the espaliers of peaches and figs that I had planted up against its whole length. I chose the best dozen specimens of impatiens and planted them neatly in pots ready to take into the office.

Extract from The Boomer Generation by Carole Mccall due out in May 2015.