WHEN the doorbell rang last Saturday morning, I answered reluctantly.

Ringing doorbells at that time of day usually signal pushy salesmen, so I adopted what I think of as my uncompromising dead-pan expression.

Others insist I just look gormless, which goes to prove you can be trolled without the trouble of opening a Twitter account.

Much to my astonishment, on opening the door I was confronted by a delightfully smiling and elegant stranger who handed me a bag of apples. “Ribstone Pippins,” I was informed, “fresh from the tree”.

Ribstone Pippins! I had mentioned (Letters, October 9) that my love affair with this poetically-named variety had never been consummated, and I wondered if the reality, like Ruskin’s bride, would prove a sour disappointment.

It was not, but then how can the recipient of such wonderfully spontaneous kindness judge rationally?

William Dixon Smith, Welland Rise, Acomb, York.