THE END OF BRITISH SUMMER TIME

The weather changed a bit today. As if to simulate the end of British Summer Time, it went from a bright, sunny, Autumn morning into a cold, drizzly, winter’s afternoon.

The clocks go back of course, which is great news for the one in my car that I forgot to change in March. Tomorrow it’ll be back to being correct, and I can stop mentally reminding myself that it’s an hour out.

It’s not so good for the one in the bathroom though, which is happily stuck in summer all the year round. All I need now is one of those daylight bulbs and that little sauna of happiness will be an oasis of holiday in the midst of the bleak midwinter, just an hour ahead.

I went to the Co-Op in the sunshine. They have all their ugly Halloween dolls dangling from the roof, swinging between pumpkins as though they’ve been hanged at a weird fruit fayre. This season is grizzly and horrid. Apparently, my Aunty had to take her granddaughter screaming out of the Co-Op the other day, just at the sight of those awful things. It made me wonder what the whole point of it was.

Anyway, I like to avoid the pumpkin season by using the end of October as my first milestone for practising Christmas carols. And so I did.

It is, I’m afraid, the lot of every musician (and their neighbours) to do this early. I see it as fighting back the darkness with a little sparkle, and reminding anything evil out there that Hope is coming.

So, back go the clocks anyway, and out comes the mead and the hot-buttered toast and the towelling-robe dressing gown. The jumpers of course, are already out, after the other night when I wore them all at once. And I’ve sorted the heaters out a bit. I’m getting there.

I watched the rain spatter lightly on the kitchen window. The trees in the park blew and the leaves twisted through the air. Clouds raced, dog walkers wrapped coats around themselves, and the rain moistened the concrete paths until they shimmered. Out beyond the green, the benches I sit on in summer were empty and wet. I doubt I’ll be out there for some time. And that’s okay.

I’ll been in here, sorting my life out a bit while practising Good King Wenceslas and God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen. God rest you, indeed. Happy winter, everybody.