Seasons of mists and mellow fruitfulness, Close-bosom friend of the maturing sun…
Even in Johnstone, the foliage around Ludovic Square is still on the branch and busy with the business of brightening to orange and gold.
A few brave souls resist the season, defiant in open-toed sandals and t-shirts.
There are even a few remaining burgers and things-on-sticks on special next to the barbecues. Summer bouquets are still blooming outside the supermarket. And I haven’t had to scrape the car yet.
Yet nearby something awful is going on.
Men from the cooncil are putting up the Christmas lights. Today. 6 October. That’s 12 weeks until the big day and a full three months before they’ll be taken down again.
That means that Renfrewshire Council have their decorations up for a quarter of the year.
I know they probably won’t switch them on for, at least, another fortnight. It doesn’t matter – just because they aren’t lit, doesn’t mean they’re invisible.
I’m appalled. It’s the most shocking thing to happen to me today which is saying something on a day that England beat Australia at the rugby.