SEPTEMBER has really pulled the blinds on summer and said, “Right, that’s enough of that carry on.”

There was no school-gate chat this year about how typical it is for the sun to appear only once the children are back in uniform.

Just coats on, heads down, everyone skittering back to the warmth of the car for a well-deserved cry, now that our tiny tormentors are safely back in the classroom.

And I have to say, I love it. Not just because I am currently dandering around pregnant and looking increasingly like Jabba the Hutt after a big Sunday dinner, though low lighting and elasticated waistbands are especially welcome at this stage.

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I love it because autumn feels honest. It asks far less of us than summer: put on a jumper, stick a pot of stew in the slow cooker, and accept that going outside after 6pm is a character-building exercise.

I nearly wrote that autumn has always been my favourite season, but that would be a lie and, worse, the sort of lie a person tells when they have started buying candles with names like Fireside Whisper.

As a child, I loved spring because my birthday was in February and........

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