If we had thatch eves they would be loaded with fruit. It's defiantly autumnal round here. So instead of bemoaning the death throes of summer and whingeing about the cold and damp, I've decided to celebrate the new season.
The cosy, enveloping jumpers have been returned to the wardrobe and the troublesome crumpling linen banished.
There's no need for toenail painting or pruning and topiary of any kind.
It's perfectly acceptable to shut the curtains, switch on the leccy blanket, and snuggle down.
Lentil soup and homemade bread.
Clear sharp mornings.
I can abandon any pretense of doing the garden - and if it looks rubbish I'll just shut the curtains.
The boots are on again.
New Hotter boots - made for walking.
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