Poor Harry Macbeth, a circle of three witches, all his daughters, have convened a coven in his man cave. They sit around their cauldron all day to kvetch, convo and laugh. Double, double toil and trouble. A bon vivant man about town, Harry is now a man for All Seasons. However, this is not just any season. It is the season of the witch, where you have got to pick up every stitch. In Shakespeare’s play, his witches are brewing up a noxious sounding potion, what with the likes of eye of newt. In truth these seemingly disgusting ingredients are rather innocuous. Eye of newt is another name for mustard seed, toe of frog is buttercup, wool of bat are holly leaves and so on. On occasion I have attempted to stick my nose into these witch’s proceedings, only to have it bit off. At least I have not been turned into a newt. I might not get better.