The leaves are turning yellow and red, while the cheeks and fingers turn blue, and as the nights draw in those strange tribes of Canvasseri and Candidati are drawn out in hope of persuading voters to change their own colours.

The Scribbleri are on the move, too. As I headed on a 250-mile journey through the South West, I saw a rainbow arc over Micheldever. A good omen about how light is made from many colours, or a warning of the futility of chasing unobtainable treasure? Over three days, my route went through 19 constituencies, where I stopped at six pubs and two cafés to speak to seven candidates and a dozen fishermen. I followed the sun, down the A303 through Hampshire, Wiltshire and Somerset