So here we are again, poised at that most dreaded Autumnal place in time. The one where we Brits are ordered, by threat of firing-squad, to turn our clocks back one hour at 2am, thus marking the end of so-called British Summertime. This results in lighter mornings for farm workers...or something. Yeah well, as long as they're alright. It also results in night-time beginning daily at 2.30pm until next Spring.
What it really amounts to is a government ploy to make Winter yet more miserable, and lessen the ever-dwindling tendency of the Brit-Proletariat to revolt, and take to the streets with pitchforks and burning torches, shouting about Socialism. It seems to work I have to say - it's just too dark and damp for us to bother, what with all the health and safety laws in place these days.
As I type this, listening to high-winds and sideways rain, I'm bombarding my fevered brain with reassuring Summer sounds. This is because I haven't had one this year, what with the leg-brace, the crutches, the pennilessness, the infirmity and the Old Testament bad-ass weather to top it all off. When I finish up here, I'm going to watch Play Misty For Me, specifically so that I can mentally climb into Clint Eastwood's vintage open-top Jag and cruise the Pacific Coast Highway with my hair billowing in the wind, which in turn is blowin' through the jasmine in my mind whilst Clint and I wordlessly groove to some upfront Big-Band-freak-out selections on the 8-track. Yeahhhh!....