Milin has a new obsession. It involves pulling on his wellies by himself, leading me to the bottom of the garden, asking me to open the back gate, and taking me to the big old oak tree in the field behind our house. On the grass beneath it’s dying leaves, there are hundreds of acorns. Once we get to the tree, our mission is to scour the ground for the very best acorns. Any with blemishes are quickly discarded. Those that have discoloured are sometimes called “funny”, but they’re then thrown away too. The rest are carefully inspected, because we are seeking out perfectly smooth and beautifully oval specimens.