Autumn

Autumn, according to Keats, is 'the season of mists and mellow fruitfulness'... Or at least it was in 1819. To people everywhere now (alas, despite the global warming fears of both the twentieth and twenty first centuries, Autumn has deigned itself not to change and carries on as normal as ever) Autumn represents fears of 'leaves on the line', slipping over in Louboutins due to soggy pavements and rain. Lots and lots of rain.

Autumn does however remain my favourite season. As soon as I get off of the train and start to walk the 1.1 miles to University, I see conkers. I walk through a leafy lane (something so countryside, it sticks out in the grey hues of London) and everywhere I see those avocado green porcupine shells that have spent months holding little chocolate toned spheres. For months and months these tiny seasonal accessories have been being crafted (without any help from sweatshops) and how do they end up? In a mud pool, or being smashed to pieces by children in playgrounds everywhere who are lucky enough to attend non politically correct schools. I was a child lucky enough to attend one of these schools (the 90's were much more liberal) and as a result, I automatically associate Autumn with nostalgic memories of cheering people on, and pulling disapproving faces when one of the offending conkers split and debris would fly.

Autumn means a new start; New pencils that need sharpening, a new diary that needs drawing over, hot chocolate, a good reason to shop for woolly (and preferably found in the mens section) socks and woolly hats, fighting with gloves to send a text, and holding hands. I love to hold hands in Autumn, partially because I'm a romantic, and I like nothing more than wrapping up and snuggling up to my Man (who won't see the romanticism but has been dragged along and promised Starbucks) and partially because I'm particularly clumsy and need someone a bit bigger than me to hold me up, and still love me for my Bambi feet. I love the freshness of the air, the pink cheeks, the happy smiles and that never far feeling that The Season To Be Jolly is one step closer...

Still, as much as I love it, I do observe that tomorrow it will almost certainly be only just breaking dawn as I wake up, and I'll groan because it's still only September, and I also know I'll dare myself to get out from underneath the 13.5 tog quilt that stays on all year round, whilst telling myself I'll never regain this position of warmness ever aga... Oh hell, who am I kidding? I'll love it really, Glove wrestling and all.