I'll Have a Double Helping of Mists and a Side Order of Mellow Fruitfulness

Summer has fled shrieking from our shores and has left Autumn in its place as a sort of consolation prize. I'm quite fond of Autumn, it doesn't have the harsh stridency of Summer, the icy malevolence of Winter or the fickle, slightly slutty, teasing of Spring. Autumn is the season you don't have to dress up for. If Autumn drops round and you're wearing a tracksuit and ugg boots, that's just fine with Autumn. You can sprawl on your couch watching DVDs with Autumn, just try doing that with any other season. Summer would be all "Come on, let's go to the beach", Winter would just stare at you and sharpen the kitchen knives in a suggestive manner while Spring would agree to watch DVDs but wouldn't like anything you put on and would conduct a loud phone conversation with her best friend through the entire movie.

Autumn has something of the appeal of an elegant hotel just a little past its prime. The luxury is still there but you don't feel bad about putting your feet up on the furniture. There is a hint of decay about Autumn, a premonition of time running out. At the back of this is the knowledge that Autumn is inevitably followed by Winter, that all the life we see will soon be dead. Perhaps Autumn could best be described as a diplomat. Some smartarse once described diplomacy as "Telling someone to go to Hell in such a way that they look forward to the trip". Autumn makes me look forward to Winter.

With Winter as its climax Autumn should be gloomy and oppressive but it carries the gloom and oppression with such style that you enjoy it anyway. The Titanic may be sinking but the band is pretty damned good. I think I identify with Autumn; my Summer is over, the darkness draws nearer with each passing day. There is more time behind me than ahead and the decay is there to see if you look but I'm still somewhere worth staying and I don't mind if you put your feet up on the furniture.

Autumn is altogether my favourite season; Summer is glaring realism, Winter is harsh edged brutalism while Spring is a kaleidoscope of ephemeral and irrelevant fads that fade just when you might get interested in them. Autumn is baroque; ornate, elegant, doomed. And I like baroque.