A couple of days ago the Daily Mail published a headline saying that October was going to be about 8 degrees warmer than usual. I kicked off. I’m ready for autumn. I’ve packed away my summer wardrobe and I’m ready to dig out my furs, my cape and buy a new pair of boots. But oh no, this morning we woke up to blazing blue skies, a hot sun and a general feeling that we’d somehow ended up in August. It was so odd. Lush. But odd.
Despite the weather, the seasons are well and truly changing, and we’ve been quite busy down the allotment. After an ongoing glut of courgettes, the plants have finally given up and are dying back, as are the runner beans and the salad. We have harvested all of our corn, and now have it safely stored in the freezer. I’d made two types of pickle and have a stash of frozen elderberries and blackberries for wine and jam respectively. On Sunday we went apple picking; the smell of rotting fruit and the soft mouldy rements being squashed under foot. Under my deck shoes. We were doing an activity that essentially epitomizes autumn, dressed for the height of summer.
Tomorrow it is the 1st of October and I haven’t even bought this seasons first installment of tights yet. I haven’t worn a coat yet. It all seems a bit strange. The days are warm and sunny but the nights draw in early and six thirty seems like midnight as headlights glare over leaf strewn roads. Im loving the weather, it’s nice seasonal change but I want my winter haircut. I want to buy new boots and start making pumpkin pie and using squash in every meal. Perhaps with the new page of the calendar tomorrow things will start to right themselves and ordering a pumpkin spiced latte won’t feel like eating an Easter egg in August.