Autumn

From my position on the sofa I can see golden red leaves. The beech tree in my garden will bury my lawn in leaves this winter. But I don't mind – I can look out and pretend I'm sitting in Central Park in New York.

I visited New York this time last year on a school trip. I can't remember it in much detail, and much of the week is a blur as we tramped frantically around the city trying to fit in visits to all the 'must see' spots. However, the thing I remember most about that time is the pattern of the russet leaves of Central Park, criss crossed with black branches across the blue grey sky. It was an emotive time for me, as I had, only two days before, just moved into my first ever house and had finally come to terms with the fact that me and the ex-husband were never going to get back together. But the red gold colours of New York in autumn made me so happy. Also the fact that I could have a different flavour bagel for breakfast every day helped, I must be honest...

When I was living in the Middle East, I missed autumn. It's definitely my favourite season, which is strange because I hate being cold. I missed the colours mostly and the yellow, slightly faded sunshine in the afternoons. Autumn, to me, always feels like a new start, maybe because I associate it with the new school year, new exercise books and stationery (my own school days) and a whole new set of faces in my own classroom. I always think we should make our New Year resolutions in September, rather than in January, when everyone is depressed and full of self-loathing after consuming thousands of mince pies and kilos of Quality Street. Who can think rationally when surrounded by the debris of the holiday season and battling a horrendous Tia Maria induced hangover? Definitely not me. In fact, when you think about it, the whole New Year resolution idea is totally counter-productive when done in January because resolutions always arise from the indulgences of the holidays in the first place rather than being based on any meaningful reflection, eg 'I will lose 3 stone' (because of all the cheese you've eaten over xmas), 'I will stop spending so much' (because of all the money you've laid out on presents that will probably go to waste), 'I will stop smoking and become teetotal' ('cos of all the fags you've smoked and wine you've drunk while partying over xmas), and my personal favourite that lasts all of two hours before I'm reaching for the leftover Yule Log which is 'I will go on a detox'. You get the picture.

Anyway, back to my favourite season. Another reason why I love autumn is the profusion of interesting knitwear. I love jumpers. And cardigans. And woolly socks. And interesting novelty tights. And Dr Who Scarves. I blame it on the advertising...well I am susceptible...

Each year, every women's magazine in the Western world has a fashion spread featuring knitwear on a scantily clad model. Typically, she is wearing some kind of petticoat with long socks, fetchingly accessorized with a woolly hat and a hot boyfriend with washboard abs (just seen underneath the reindeer patterned red cardigan, worn in an ironic way of course). I fully buy into this fantasy, and every year I am hopeful that I will pull it off as I forget how cold the British winter does actually get. Purple quivering thighs are really not sexy and I do usually abandon the look by Christmas. But autumn is perfect for some fashion forward knitwear experimentation. No matter that I never get it right and have a tendency to overdress at the beginning of the season, ending up resembling a sweaty bag lady as I attempt to do 'trendy' layering. No matter that I always forget that Primark knitwear is, price per wear, not good value. Anyway, without the half naked hottie in a reindeer cardy, the look doesn't have quite the same impact.

Autumn is a month that appeals to the senses. The smells, tastes, colours and textures all affect me in the way no other season does. Sure, I love the heat of summer. But autumn is something else. Many of my childhood memories centre around autumn in the countryside– mushroom picking, looking for conkers, and the most vivid, Bonfire Night.

When I was little, Bonfire Night was so exciting. I loved the toffee apples and sparklers and hot dogs (which we were never usually allowed). That forbidden taste of the white bread, cheap sausage, ketchup and onions was worth waiting all year for. The sticky, tooth breaking crunch of the toffee apple (I only ever ate the outside, the normal apple bit was boring). The fireworks I was never so interested in, it was more the ritual of the whole family being together, putting our wellies on, driving down to the local park and being able to stay up late. There was a family in our village who never went to the actual celebration, they would just watch the fireworks from the nearest hill. We used to pass them parked up on the way, sharing a flask of tea. I would glimpse the white faces of the two boys as they miserably watched everyone else driving past, off to eat junk food and play with sparklers. I used to feel desperately sorry for them as it seemed to me they were missing out on the best bit – after all the fireworks were secondary - and wish we could invite them along. Not being allowed to go to Bonfire Night seemed to me a fate worse than death.

Nowadays, the idea of clumping around in a muddy field in the cold doesn't really grab me and I would much rather celebrate Guy Fawkes' stupidity in a warm pub with an open fire. But even now, the smell of hot dogs and wood smoke takes me back to Bonfire Night and to my childhood, just as the taste of cinnamon bagels reminds me of New York.

Autumn is memories. Autumn is emotion and restlessness and the feeling of change. Autumn is decay and hopefulness, and ending and a beginning. It's a new wardrobe and a new start. That's why I love it.