The elephants’ ears are turning, the brass monkeys are running around with their paws down their trousers and looking worried and yonder farmers are struggling against the weather to get their crops in. In short, tis autumn in England. Someone flipped the switch. The evenings are short, the days are deliciously cool and the nights are cold. Leaves are turning to reds, golds and yellows and taking flying leaps from the branches to fill the lanes. I am seriously considering being sewn into my winter longjohns in the coming week or so, whenever next my Savile Row tailors can fit me in.
It’s fascinating to watch the confusion of nature as the seasons collide like tectonic plates. Leaves? Tick. Temperature? Tick. Oh bugger – I forgot the berries (most of which are in a very half-hearted state if they are in anything at all).
Rain a-plenty has fallen, in fact it has fallen so frequently that it’s a pain in the fundament as regards getting the crops in. So why the massive dust clouds in the fields? Nature, kindly make up your mind. Is it to be wet and soggy or is it to be dry and dusty?
One splendid thing about the breeze and the drop in temperature (if more than that itself be needed – which it is not) is that the flies have disappeared and the only wasps to be seen are pathetic little beasts looking for somewhere to crawl into and die. Why of why though have the sheepsies in the field been shorn of their coats? It seems to be very odd timing to me. Perhaps some sort of appeal for tartan blankets and coats might be launched?