New season, new look...

God, I hate the word ‘fall’. It seems to be creeping increasingly into the English language like a demented ivy. How could it possibly usurp the far superior ‘autumn’? A prize for the ‘fall’ alternative for the other three seasons.

Now I’ve got that out of the way, I can say how lovely this time of year is and how these autumnal smells are getting me all excited.

I’ve just picked some sloes from the bushes behind my house. Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall recommends steeping them in cheap vodka and sugar. It’s quite tempting but apparently you have to prick them copiously with pins before macerating them. Because of my two south paws, it sounds rather daunting to me. The simple act of cutting an onion usually necessitates a trip to A&E, so pricking tiny blue berries might be a step too far if I want to hold onto my remaining digits...

So if you fancy a punnet of un-pricked sloes, please pop round. They’re yours. Autumn has brought another surprise. My dog has unveiled a rather fearless taste for blackberries. Our blackberry picking now goes like this; one for me, one for Alf, one for the pot. If I am not there personally to administer the berries into his slathering chops he just pushes his snout deep into the bush and munches away, heedless of the sharp brambles. Did you notice that I could have used another word there for a cheap thrill, but I restrained myself?

Good.

I’ve been using my left-handed scissors again, which is never a good thing. I started on my fringe. That was quite fun and satisfying as I haven’t had a fringe for quite a while. Then I felt I needed something else doing and those scissors found their way into my southpaws again. It was a warm, slightly balmy late summer evening and the sheer excitement of being outside made me cut two wings into the side bits. I then took random bits from the back and trimmed them upside down for a slightly edgy look. No one has said anything. It wasn’t quite a ‘Betty Blue’ moment, but had I continued on the red wine, it could have definitely developed that way.

Anyway, there’s something quite satisfying about being my age and cutting my own hair. I hate hairdressing salons. There is always such an air of expectation as you sink into the leather chair that fizzles abruptly into a depressed ‘oh, ok’, when they tell you rather than ask you ‘the same again, then?’. I only once took a photo of a famous actress in to suggest that I might have a change of style similar to hers. The look of barely concealed hilarity in my wanting to mention myself in the same breath as the famous actress cut that idea in the bud rather abruptly.

So, with my new self-styled hairstyle, I’m now pondering my ‘Autumn look’. Whenever I look in my wardrobe I see myself in situations that strangely fail to materialise more often than not. I think I might start using this blog to dress myself for different occasions so that my clothes don’t feel left out of my life. I certainly haven’t embraced the slighly horsey jeans and jumper look that is very popular here, but I am possibly less dressed up than I used to be. One of the things I hate most is having to pick my daughter up from school – it’s that horrible waiting in the school playground that makes me a nervous wreck, smiling and nodding to people from a distance, that sort of thing. Making small talk is my worst nightmare. Luckily there is a very interesting tree in the playground that I tend to stand under and study quite intently.

I’m currently studying snowflakes too. My favourite shape is ‘the imperfect symmetry you more typically find of your sleeve’. Oh how lovely imperfect symmetry is!