Autumn Almanac

Pouring rain. Freshly flooded basement. Split shift. Terrible, terrible day of football (with the one sparse ray of sunshine that was Morecambe extending their lead at the top of League Two). Yes, this is what autumn feels like.

With that, I'll hand you over to The Kinks.


From the dew-soaked hedge creeps a crawly caterpillar,
When the dawn begins to crack.
It's all part of my autumn almanac.
Breeze blows leaves of a mustard-coloured yellow,
So I sweep them in my sack.
Yes, yes, yes, it's my autumn almanac.

Friday evenings, people get together,
Hiding from the weather.
Tea and toasted buttered currant buns
Can't compensate for lack of sun,
Because the summer's all gone.

Oh, my poor rheumatic back
Yes, yes, yes, it's my autumn almanac.
Oh, my autumn almanac
Yes, yes, yes, its my autumn almanac.

I like my football on a Saturday,
Roast beef on Sundays, all right.
I go to Blackpool for my holidays,
Sit in the autumn sunlight.

This is my street, and I'm never gonna leave it,
And I'm always gonna stay here
If I live to be ninety-nine,
Cause all the people I meet
Seem to come from my street
And I can't get away,
Because its calling me, (come on home)
Hear it calling me, (come on home)

Oh, my autumn armagnac
Yes, yes, yes, its my autumn almanac.