After the best summer in living memory (for me, at least; those older have enjoyed banging on about the summer of ’76 which was, of course, hotter, longer and tougher) we find ourselves hurtling into autumn. The leaves are starting to fall, the nights are drawing in and we’re all desperately trying to not talk about Christmas before the time when it’s acceptable to talk about Christmas.
But can I just say (and this is not a Christmas post, I’d like to make that clear) that it’s very difficult not to think about Christmas because – truthfully – what else is there to look forward to" I know that we’re supposed to rejoice in the crisp air, the burnished colours, the benefits of being allowed to “hibernate” and the realisation that we can now wear tights, but really" It’s just a clever, positive spin on the fact that we have to now endure a whole run of dreary, dark months. Hibernation during this time is a necessity, not a perk. And when was being able to wear tights any sort of bonus" Good grief! You’re either hoisting them up every ten seconds or using a black biro to colour in your legs through the myriad of holes that inevitably appear the very first time you put them on. Add to that the fact that they seem to make my shins ridiculously dry and flaky and we have ourselves a clothing item that could only have been designed by Satan himself. (Though I will admit that they do make my leg...