As signs of the year’s turning go, it’s hard to beat a good conker. The first glimpse of that deep burnished brown flesh gleaming up from the grass or pavement never fails to draw out a childhood thrill. They fall from the trees over three or four weeks then they’re gone again.
We see the signs too on our plates and in our glasses. As September ends, Oktoberfest swings around with its Festbiers. And after that, for some drinkers at least, thoughts begin to return to pints of cask ale in a cosy pub. And in southern England (and increas- ingly beyond), drinkers in the know start to itch for the grassy nettled freshness of a green hop beer
