Place booty goes begging as golden autumn turns nasty

My god, autumn is rubbish, isn't it. Dead leaves everywhere, a chill in the air, nights drawing in. What was I thinking when labelling it my favourite season? I don't like any seasons. Let's just call the whole thing off.

Yes, my brief period of euphoria is over, and I have reverted to type. A friend who read my column last week sent me a thrilled text about how I appeared to have gone beyond relief to a state of pure joy. He was right – I had a wonderful spring in my step for a fortnight or so – but I was struck by an anvil of despair last week to bring me crashing back down to autumnal earth.

I felt like an impostor in the land of joy anyway. I have had a few mini-breaks in the land of joy through the years, but start to feel uneasy on a protracted vacation there. It is not straightforward to get a visa for the land of joy. I tend to leave long before overstaying my welcome.