Season of Mists and Mellow Boyfriendlessness

Autumn has staged a coup. Summer is nowhere to be seen and the trees stand quivering defeatedly in the courtyard, branches held high, surrendering leaves to the ground. The squirrels, opportunistic little buggers that they are, have taken advantage of the situation and are out looting the garden for conkers, acorns and anything else that stands still long enough to be eaten or buried. The air is thick with the smell of burning leaf-litter. I don't know if it's some kind of dated attempt to keep warm, or if pyromaniacs only come out of hibernation in October, but either way it's a smell that's synonymous with autumn. People are buying up gourds like they're going out of fashion, but I defy anyone to know what the hell to do with an onion squash. I for one certainly don't, and furthermore I harbour some serious reservations about food that sounds like it's having an identity crisis. You wouldn't eat a mushroom fruit, would you?

I feel a little shiver of excitement (which could also be attributable to losing nearly ten degrees in under a week), for soon it'll be Hallowe'en and Guy Fawkes Night, and you know what this means? Fun food and festivities! I'm dreaming of bonfires and scarves, sweets and toffee apples, candyfloss, gluhwein, sugared almonds, fairground burgers with onions and cheap ketchup (undoubtedly the best variety), and then the opportunity to ride the teacups and swallow vomit in the taxi all the way home, just like last year.

Hallowe'en is so tragically underdone here in the UK. I'm disappointed in our unwillingness as a nation to adopt a disguise and beg sweets from strangers under cover of darkness, I really am. I'm also disappointed that this is the third autumn with the 2^nd Lieutenant, and yet we have not succeeded in disembowelling a single pumpkin or lighting a single sparkler together. What does the army have against people getting drunk in a field and watching explosives in the dark anyway? Sounds like just another day on the job to me. I suppose next October, just over three and half years into the relationship, we will still have the pleasure of doing our first autumnal things together. That's assuming, of course, that I survive the morning beach ride I've booked in his absence this Hallowe'en weekend. Now I realise horses aren't terribly scary unless you've cheesed off The Godfather, but when you've not ridden for a while and the last few times you've taken one for a spin round the paddock have ended in A&E, there are few things more terrifying or likely to result in death.  I'm told fancy dress from the neck up is the order of the evening. I call shotgun on the mummy.