As the wind howled, I could almost see my face in the whirlochre spin of dried leaves fluttering about the place, and the whole season passed without Ringo Starr releasing a single DVD box set of his favourite masturbation techniques.
But now it’s Winter’s turn to enthrob our weatherly wobb.
I never much like Winter as a kid — there’s something about being trapped inside a freezing, sopping wet, snorkel parka that stays with you foreverer than the drip-drip-dripping sound 15 minutes after Mr Creosote’s corpse was dragged from the restaurant (particularly if you have a swollen bladder and a mile left to walk home from school) — but now I’ve reached the age where my bones should recoil from the cold like an erection of Mercury in a thermometer, I find myself being rather partial to its bleak and frosty charms.
Thanks to Winter I can throw on a hat and an overcoat and gad about the place with zero chance of bumping into some grinning, tanned twat in Bermuda shorts or slipping over on a half-slurped Magnum. Plus, if I’m involved in any kind of accident and the paramedics have to strip me down to my socks, no one will consider it at all odd that I’m wearing two pairs of underpants. Can’t get away with that one in the Summer!
How’s Winter shaping up for you guys?