There they were, shimmering away in the midday sun…my gold raspberries. These are the first of my autumn
raspberry crop ‘called ‘All Gold’ and I could smell that sweet raspberry aroma before I had even set foot on the plot. If Wordsworth can write poetry about coming across a host of golden daffodils, then somebody should wax lyrical over these beauties too.

Thompson and Morgan claim they have a more exquiste flavour than their red cousins, and I must admit, they’re right. The berries are huge – I can’t wait to get them home and eat them with vanilla ice cream. Any surplus (err, although I’m positive there won’t be) will be made into golden raspberry jam.
Perfick.