Early October and autumn makes another bold announcement.

Early October and autumn makes another bold announcement.

It's now early October and here in Manor House, North London the world is much the way it's always been except now the world is once again horrified and appalled in much the way it has been for  most of 2017. This is not the time for any reactions to the Las Vegas outrage but you can only express your heartfelt sorrow and sympathy for those who have lost their lives to a deranged lunatic. The truth is, there can be no words.

So it's time to go back to this early October day in beloved Britain. Suddenly you can hear the plaintive cry of autumnal winds, the screams of children in atmospheric playgrounds, the wailing and barking of wonderfully raucous market traders shivering defiantly on early morning starts. There's a yelping and yowling on the streets, a furious struggle with reluctant umbrellas on rain swept mornings, more strikes planned for the Tube trains in London, train strikes cancelled, draughty platforms and general chilliness. We've all been there before, haven't we?

Now is the time to turn up the central heaters, throw crackling logs on the fire, sip those first bowls of heart warming tomato soup, nursing hopefully temporary colds and then resigning ourselves to months of dark wintry evenings when 5.00 in the afternoon feels much more like 1.00 in the morning. Isn't Mother Nature terrific? One moment you're bathing in the most delicious heatwave and the next you're rubbing your hands together and cowering in bus shelters from those imminent showers. Oh for the joys of the passing seasons.

Before you know it we'll be groaning and complaining about those dark mornings, those sweeping curtains of rain that slant into your face and make you angry, furious and livid. Surely we could have taken the day off work or just spent the day walking the dog or flying a kite, even battling the elements on some solitary mountain path. Maybe we could have baked some heavenly chocolate cream cake as once endorsed so beautifully by Mary Berry or taken part in a vigorous game of badminton or table tennis because now all of those outdoor activities have now gone into their winter hibernation.

In Britain the very mention of autumn and then winter fills us with the kind of dread and foreboding we normally reserve for complicated tax forms or those bothersome bills that sit there on your table with a reproachful eye for day on day. We must get around to paying those wretched bills sooner or later but then we look out of our dining room windows dripping and trickling with more rain, like those heart- rending tears of young children the night before their first day at school.

This though is the season of warmth and intimacy, huddling around the TV or tapping away incessantly at the latest computer games on your I-Pad. It should be a time for solidarity and camaraderie, of uniting together as family and friends, sharing warmly reflective memories of sun kissed summer holidays by beach and pool. Then there are the  scurrying, sweltering waiters in Greek, Spanish, Italian or Turkish restaurants, swiftly darting around tables with those distinctive bread baskets or bottles of wine.  Or perhaps we head further afield because now our horizons are much broader and we can now sample the delights of the Caribbean, Hong Kong and all points of the world compass.

But then we walk into comparatively empty parks and the tennis courts can still be heard with that delightful crack of the ball against a backdrop of more disgruntled dogs or maybe they're just glad to be alive. The constant barking in the distance fades in and out rather like Radio Luxembourg in its pomp. It may be maddening and infuriating to those who wish they'd stop much sooner than they should. None would ever object to their presence though.  Then there's the frantic scampering of  young children, climbing gleefully up steep slopes and then running tirelessly around in circles, hunting and chasing, laughing and giggling because that's how the world should be for children.

Nearby a canal sits peacefully with its inevitable barges slowly meandering and floating, waiting for the day to unfold before retreating into the sanctuary of  another early evening snooze.  Now those early morning blackbirds once again jump around the lush green grass with all the restless energy they can muster. The cawing of crows increase rapidly in volume as the morning progresses, sharp cries that can be heard insistently as distant trains  rumble and rattle past with an industrial growl.

Back at Stamford Hill, the Jewish festival season turns to Succot. Succot is the season for rich fruits and satisfying harvests. Succot is that wonderful holiday where we all pray joyfully for a good, healthy and happy New Year with apples, oranges and peaches hanging tantalisingly from splendidly adorned green leaved roofs. We tuck into yet more sensationally seductive honey cakes and biscuits that play hop scotch in your mouth.

Another October has dawned and the wilder howls of winter's blustery gale force winds are not that far away. We can still pretend though that the garden lawnmowers are buzzing away quite happily, the yellow roses are still waxing lyrical and the shiningly delectable summer sunshine is beating down gladdeningly on this green and pleasant land of ours. October is shaping up very nicely and although the world around us doesn't exactly fill us with hope we must believe things will get better. We'll always have early October days, crisp frosts on fragile, nervous tree branches and then the rousing concert sounds of November and December. Oh, for the whimsical changing  of the seasons. Let's hear it for October.