Autumn: “Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness” (Keats, don’t you know). A lovely poem but I’m afraid I don’t share his love of the season. I know, I know, according to Instagram and Facebook, everyone bloody loves autumn but I just don’t. Sorry. I have written and doodled about my dislike of Autumn before but today I’m focusing squarely upon going for a “lovely” autumn walk…
Here’s the theory, it’s wonderful on paper:
That’s the autumn that I think everyone must be talking about when they wax lyrical about what a wonderful time of year it is. Sure, those golden days, that particular light in the sky and that amazing blue that only the autumn sky can produce: beautiful. There’s nothing better than wrapping up warm and kicking through piles of crunchy leaves before going home for nice hot chocolate and perhaps snuggling up together for a movie.
But in my (bitter) experience, “a lovely autumn walk” is very similar to “a lovely walk” at any other time of year, only with more rain, more dog shit, and more misery:
I think I’ll skip straight to the hot chocolate, thanks. Actually, scratch that – a hot toddy!
