Perhaps this is an overly dramatic title, but I'm really feeling the end of the summer and the beginning of autumn quite keenly. J is out at the moment, and I'm on the sofa with a mug of tea, knitting and grand prix on. It's cold and dark and wet outside, and I couldn't be happier.
This summer was pretty awesome. We went to Latitude as we have for the past few years, and for the first time, it was just the two of us. It was a lovely long weekend, if slightly cold and wet, and we saw some awesome things. We became slightly addicted to the Olympics, and watched more sport then we have, I think probably in the rest of our lives. We had drinks in pub gardens, dinner outside, and generally enjoyed the sunny days we had. A couple of weeks ago we had a last hurrah and spent an evening on Richmond Green with friends where we were bitten to pieces by mosquitos and planned fun things to do when we go to New York in a couple of weeks.
And now it's autumn, probably my favourite of all the seasons. I was in bed shortly after nine last night, with a mug of tea and some knitting, and QI on iplayer, and it was genuinely wonderful. I love Sunday afternoons in the rain, where I'm cosy inside and can hear the rain on the windows, but know I'm safe and warm inside. I've made plans for Christmas crafting, and am making a start on my cards. I'm finding blankets to drape over the arms of our chairs for those cold evenings, so people can curl up and be warm. I'm plotting soups for lunch, and counting down the days until its cold enough for me to wear my fleecy tights. Digging through books to find some slow cooker recipes. Working out when I can invite friends over for an afternoon of board games and warm dinners. Bring it on autumn, I've been waiting for you.