Seasons are a changin'. The chill of autumn has set in. With rainy days and a weakened sun. I don't mind it so much, the change. The slow turn. It registers and you observe it quietly, unable to alter it. It feels as though there is a lot of change going on. Everything is in transition as one part of life merges into next. A blur of transition. Autumn is especially melancholic. Lovely melancholy nothing. That nothing seems like a good time to review what's happened and to see what is happening. Summer used to be the only season I could appreciate but I'm starting to like the clothing autumn and spring offer. I'm coming round to the concept of four distinct seasons. Rugging up in soft knits and scarves, leather bags, gloves and boots feels like a new kind of indulgence. The ultimate indulgence as a sort of compensation. It's the darkness of winter that I'm dreading. Just about the only way I can cope is to distract myself. Fashion works well. Making lists works too. Better yet, making lists of coveted pieces and reading material to keep the spirits up. The Gentlewoman and issue one of CR are out next week. Tick, and tick. Not a bad start, not bad at all.