Back last night from Malta, which was so summery – and I’m feeling excited/delighted that autumn has arrived here in London.
(Yes, it’s a cliché, but the thing with clichés is that they’re true.)
We welcome summer with joy, our arms open, embracing the warmth (so longed for after the cold winter), the feel of grass on our feet, our faces lifted up to bask in the light, cold drinks in our hands, long evenings spent chatting outside with friends and family.
But by September, the heat has turned my limbs lethargic, the dryness has left summer’s freshness a little dusty, my wardrobe’s looking a bit wilted and my toes are dying to ditch the flipflops for Proper Shoes.
There’s something about that first crisp autumn evening, the golden light, the smell of leather handbags and the sense of Things to be Done that’s as exciting as the start of a new year – but without the pressure and diet advertisements.
And the bounteous vegetables.
