“It was one of those perfect English autumnal days which occur more frequently in memory than in life.“

. . . this morning, the sun shone brightly, an utterly perfect start to the weekend, and a perfect way to end the month and we’re ready for whatever november brings, so long as there are cosy heather grey sweaters and burnt crimson, logs by the fire and gilded frames, a sprinkle of chocolate on our morning coffee — and so — from this moment on, let the leaves fall where they may . . .
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