‘Tis the season, no, not that season (quite yet), but another season: An ode to autumn

This is from my 2011 scrapbook! I know right! Original images. Don't get used to it.
This is from my 2011 scrapbook! I know right! An original image. Don’t get used to it.

Happy Fireworks night. I don’t feel so firework-y tonight (long, heartfelt sigh), I’m just gonna have a huge bowl of spaghetti and read a book. I wrote this at the start of October but it’s been laying dormant until now – so sorry if it’s already a little outdated. Like, if this post was a fresh leaf when it was written in late-September, early-October, it’ll now be a mushed-up, rained-on mixture of pulp and chewing gum mashed into some pavement somewhere. Such is life. 

Look – I don’t know if it’s anything to do with the fact that both my parents were born within a week of each other at the crossover of September into October, so it’s ingrained into my DNA make-up or whatever; perhaps I’m overly sentimental for things like transitions and change and every other darned thing a writer can get sentimental about (SPOILER: everything)

Maybe it’s the familiarisation of routine that sets back in after a long summer: early nights, hearty meals, people bonding miserably over the miserable and changeable weather; maybe I’m a witch, whatever, who even cares – but autumn is my lady.

There is just something about darkness setting in earlier, leaves browning and yellowing and dark purpling, lying dead on the ground; that smell when they get rained on, get dried, and then turn into autumn sludge again. 

This season has more memories for me than any other. In the way that childhood/adolescence is often portrayed in films – hanging out with your friends all summer long, in sepia – I don’t feel as nostalgic about the summer as I do the autumn. (I spent a good few of my summer holidays as a child counting down the days until I could get back to school)

Autumn feels a lot more familiar than other seasons. Autumn and I are friendly to each other. Well, I say friendly. Ms. A.T gives me the gift of big, woollen jumpers, increased portion sizes with every meal (it’s getting colder – I need to be insulated) and this. I mean, I don’t listen to that all the time, although I wish I could say I did – but all I’m saying is autumn provides us with all the tools we need to stay in, get our heads down, and begin to create things. We don’t give it anything, we just sort of walk around in it. But thanks anyway, autumn!

Applying to online courses, looking up university degrees, pitching ideas to magazines. Maybe I link this time of year to being at school, slightly perspiring from the dusty heaters cranked up to 11.  Autumn feels pretty studious – until the clocks go back and you’re all ‘I’ll stay in Dreamland for another six or seven hours, thank you” – but there is a brief changeover period where I feel like getting my head down and getting to it.

I hope this feeling of wanting to begin new things prevails throughout the rest of my life. It’s convenient getting stuck into new projects at the start of the season when there’s stationary deals going on in every store across the world as everyone’s getting geared up for another academic year. 

Once we get into winter, every evening is a prime Netflix and chill time. And I don’t even mean Netflix and chill, I just mean Netflix and chill. Unfortunately.

Autumn, on the other hand, is pretty expectant. Suddenly, I have to face the fact that there is LESS than two months left in the year. The year! Like, Christmas, guys! Again!

And as I have to pretty much dismiss the potential of doing anything at all in the winter (hibernation, impending eternal darkness, Netflix), I always feel so inspired to spend time on my own, reading books I’ve been saving up all summer, scrapbooking everything I’ve been collecting over the last few months, taking time out to check in with myself and make sure I’m set for the long and cold winter (kind of like a squirrel collecting nuts).

As the nights get colder, it becomes way too easy to indulge nightly in mass social media-ing. I’ve recently deleted my Instagram, because although it’s great fun, it was stopping me from getting all my shit done by the time it needed to be.

[EDIT] That other girl that deleted her Instagram this week got loads of attention online, possibly because she was ‘goals’. Although she cried about being ‘goals’, so everyone was all “This girl was goals for her hot bod, now she’s goals for taking a stand on what is becoming a boring and negative daily ritual for many. The girl is just GENERALLY goals.” I deleted my Instagram and NOBODY even noticed. So I’m not goals, but I’ll do.

I thought it was about time to get rid of all those distractions as I work full-time and have so much I want to do in the evenings. The small solo projects I’m working on now may not amount to anything, but it’s not a waste of time. Use these precious autumnal opportunities to their full potential. It may be the compost that’ll turn into that good idea. Stay in for the night, turn your phone off, throw a huge jumper on, and work all the way through to the witching hour. (‘Tis the season, non?) Pritt-sticking, writing, painting, practising cartwheels: Use your time wisely, and get to it.

(Just for the archive, my first play is on in a couple of weeks (16-17 November)! I’ll probably write more about it and the process of writing it soon, when I have a few spare hours. I’m soooo proud of it. Now I just want to get started on something else! A feature film! A fashion line! A symphony!)

Friday I’m in love – (+ stuff I’ve been gawping at with my eyes and my ears this week)

I felt like I had to write to stop me from eating another Mars Bar…(I blame me because I have no willpower of any sort! I blame the weather! I blame hormones! I blame society!)

Hey, look- it’s Friday! Here’s some stuff I’ve been listening to/reading/scrolling through this week:

Reading: Jean- Paul Sartre- Nausea


Or, attempting to read. I picked this book up in Paris , after completely falling for In Camera, one of his more famous plays. You can watch the Harold Pinter-starring film of it in its entirety here.

This book is pretty heavy, the blurb summaries the plot in the following ways:

  • Antoine Roquentin, a French writer who is horrified at his own existence
  • In impressiontic form he ruthlessly documents every sensation
  • His thoughts culminate in a pervasive overpowering feeling of nausea

Etc etc. For some reason though, it’s the book I’ve been reaching for to deter from doing any revision, some of the consciousness of Roquentin (and presumably Sartre) is so similar to mine I could DIE:

“I am. I am, I exist, I think, therefore I am; I am because I think, why do I think? I don’t want to think any more, I am because I think that I don’t want to be, I think that I . . . because . . . ugh!”

It is at this point that I have to run up to my room, don’t write ANYTHING for a few hours and turn up, I don’t know, BEYONCE really loud. Poor Sartre had no Beyonce, so he wrote books and made money instead.

Still, a very interesting read (especially if you like language and how it works, too), full of daily observations of people which is ultimately timeless, as people rarely change.

Listening to: (people talking about very little all day, radio, the wind blowing horrendously outside & every CD in my collection) but last night I fell asleep to: Richard Hawley’s True Love Gutter.


His sixth album, Hawley is such a fave because of his deep, full-of-tone voice and rockabilly style. Another I listen to a lot is Coles Corner, which is a really sweet album about a place in the town where he grew up in where lovers used to meet to go on dates and such.

True Love’s Gutter is for those kind of sad days, when it’s raining- and you feel like going to sleep just to stop thinking for a bit. I listened to it quietly last night and when I woke up it was the morning, so it has the lullaby-feel to it.

Track 5, ‘Don’t get Hung Up in your Soul’ is just, unfgh, when he’s all like

“Baby don’t get hung up in your soul/don’t let them make your heart grow old”

I’m getting all fangirl now, and I’m sorry.

Scrolling through: Rookie, (obviously)- and various blogs including this sweet one with hella illustrations by ‘esmeblegvad‘ of whom I know nothing about apart from I like what she draws. I don’t own this, obviously, but this is her style- and it’s cute.


Go play and have fun.