London Autumn

I like London in the autumn.  Make no mistakes, there are certain snags… it gets dark unreasonably early, and I go through multiple pairs of gloves in an attempt to prevent my fingers turning blue (which they do remarkably easily).  Getting out of bed becomes harder, and getting back into it takes longer as there’s always that initial shudder of horror as you realise just how far your feet are from your body core, and just how chilly it is down the far end of the blanket.

But there are certain perks.  London is a city full of trees, which is a large part of what makes London brilliant, and as the autumn comes everything changes colour as all the leaves fall.  There’s certain rituals that can be enjoyed – finding conkers (which I still collect for my Mum, as apparently moths don’t like ’em) and shuffling through great drifts of leaves being the two obvious examples.  The ivy clinging to my estate turns yellow, then brilliant red, while the tops of trees turn a bright, almost tacky yellow.  The light, for all that it’s rare, goes this slanting pale creamy colour, turning orange for sunset, and feels somehow both brilliant and thin all at the same time.  In short – when it’s not raining – autumn can be an oddly beautiful time of year, even in the city.