Your alarm goes off. You wake up, grudgingly, and you’re not sure if it’s still dark or if it’s raining. You open the curtains. It’s dark, and it’s raining.
As the autumnal equinox approaches, people around Britain are rummaging around in the back of wardrobes for their winter coats, wondering what happened to that nice umbrella they bought, and preparing to unleash their autumn jumpers on an unsuspecting populace.
Some associate autumn with melancholy. “When the winds of autumn sigh around us, their voice speaks not to us only, but to our kind; and the lesson they teach us is not that we alone decay, but that such also is the fate of all the generations of man” - this was the view of a Guardian columnist, Alison, in the autumn of 1840.
Others take solace in the battening down of the hatches that autumn can provide. Now is a time for the binge watching of television series (not an option for Alison); of Mario Kart tournaments (ditto), and long walks warmly wrapped up against a darkening sky.
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