Every year, I’m surprised when summer ends. No need to keep room in the freezer for more Soleros. Time to put my flip flops into ‘summery stuff’ storage. I must gauge correctly when the winter duvet should be unveiled and hope it’s not at the same time as an Indian summer shimmying on down. Yes, Autumn is upon us and that gives me an excuse to go all listy on you and share my favourite things about the season of soup, scarves and sparklers.
My legs are not elegant or dainty, they are not long enough for regular length trousers or pretty enough for flippy summer skirts. If I had to describe them in one word, that word would be sausagesque. Squirt a bit of mustard on them and stick them in a bun and Mr Richmond and Mr Wall would be admiring their meatiness. I spend the majority of summer trying to keep them out of the public eye for fear that Mr Punch might arrive to save them from a crocodile. Then the colder days draw in and my squashy, stubby little legs can be encased in thick black tights. Beautifully concealed within a cloak of darkness. Oh wonderous lycra camoflage, how I love you so.
Lights on at dusk
The ending of summer seems to sneak up surreptitiously. You get home from work, used to light evenings and realise it’s actually getting dark. That’s when it happens; you put the light on without thinking and I get to see inside your home. I am Mrs Nosey Parker of Busybodyville when it comes to soft furnishing. My inner interior designer is clapping her hands and jumping up and down with glee. Does the smartly dressed man who lives across the road have a lounge worthy of appearing in Homes and Gardens or is it a sixty minute makeover gone wrong? Will I spot a cushion to die for and spend the entire winter googling variations of the phrase “Where can I buy a purpley bluey greyish coloured cushion with a funky pattern and a bit of fur” in the desperate hope that I can steal the style of a random stranger who lives near to the supermarket that I visit on the way home from work? Who knows what those unexpected lounge lights will bring.
Oh tempting, tasty, canary yellow delight. You are a golden shining halo of joy, exponentially enhancing any pudding eating experience and for this, I am truly grateful.
Strictly Come Dancing
Handsome men, gorgeous women, sequins, smiles, live music, dancing, celebrities that in the first instance you’ve never heard of but by week three you know the names of their children, their favourite food and you’re trying to find out where to get ‘Team *insert celebrity name*’ t-shirts printed. Every October, as soon as I hear the theme music “da da da da dee da da, da da da da daaaaah” I become sofa judge: dance guru. I sit in front of the telly yelling “No, no, no heel leads!” and “Excellent projections” and “Ooh, Rumba, that’s a tough dance for the male celebrity”.
Autumn. Just fab-u-lous, daaaaaaarling.