The nights are drawing in, the first signs of a nip are in the air, and the first tawny leaves are drifting gently down. Soon the days will be shorter, the nip will turn to a bite, and naked trees will line our streets and parks.
But there is the promise of a beacon, just days from being lit, to lead us home to Christmas.
It may be autumn, but nowadays autumn means Strictly time, and Strictly means sequins, satin, lace and lycra, high heels, fake tans, pancake foundation, glitter and glamour. It is time to dance, if only in our heads, or on our sofas. Bring it on! Bring on the cheese and the schmaltz, the wiggling hips and the gurning faces, the journeys and the shock exits.
Back comes Mr Saturday night himself; his dance-challenged co-presenter; the gawkily wonderful Claudia, the pantomime judges; the hopeful celebrities;and the stars of the show – the dancers. My social life may well take a dive at this time of year, but my happiness quotient is flying sky high. And to all of those who say it is only a TV programme – it is so not! It is the only known cure for sunshine and light deprivation, the only guaranteed provider of warmth and fluff on a Saturday night, and the only thing that matters for the next three and a half months!
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