You may find you have a few extra house guests as butterflies and ladybirds seek warm spaces to sleep through the colder months. Please report any ladybird findings to the UK Ladybird Survey.
– ‘Welcoming the Changing Seasons’, BBC Nature
– A car drives past with a lady’s skirt caught in the door, flapping.
– Your boss changes the inspirational quote on his whiteboard from “Edmund Hillary climbed Mount Everest one step at a time” to “PEDALS ON THE ACCELERATOR.”
– You start to think about ‘going freelance’.
– You overhear things in the office such as “People are funny on the phone”, and “My eye was all blown up like I’d been in the ring with Tyson! But you have to laugh. Why? Because you’ve got to be positive about life”, and “So the wives would make a pastie but it wasn’t about the pastry, it was all about the meat inside.”
– You misspell ‘bowl’ as ‘bole’.
– An acquaintance tells you that you ‘smell like Trade Aid’. Someone else says you have ‘a swarthy look’.
– Someone steals a pedal from your bike, but they leave the lights. They, too, know the days are closing in.
– A newspaper journalist writes that we should ’embrace new ways of disposing of the dead’.
– A food writer writes, “The bacon and cheese married just as well as they always do, but on this occasion I made a sort of savoury spread for the bread, softening very finely chopped onions with some hashed pancetta and parsley, then tucking it under and over slices of mild, weeping goat’s cheese.”
– Someone sends you an autobiographical story they’ve written, and you’re not sure what to say about it, so you don’t say anything for weeks. The days draw in.
– There is talk that schoolchildren are being recruited in care homes to teach old people how to use the internet.
– Squatters get into the homes of wealthy people who have gone to France on holiday and throw their clothes and cookbooks out the window and into the garden.
– Your brother’s garden yields a sudden bounty of weird-shaped potatoes.
– You get halfway through a bowl of porridge before breaking out in a pants-drenching sweat.
– The drunks in the park congregate daily now, growing ever more harmless, their teeth growing ever softer, and one day you hear one of them say, “When I die, I want my lifeless corpse to be fired into the Sun, like Hunter S. Thompson.”
– Games of conkers end in knifings.