I knew I’d been well and truly clobbered when I saved an article to read from the New York Times about Pumpkin Spice Lattes (https://www.nytimes.com/2023/09/25/dining/drinks/pumpkin-spice-latte.html). Full disclosure, the liquid that probably bears no relation to pumpkin or spice or latte has never passed my lips. One year, in that dead zone between Christmas and New Year when everyone is eating increasingly bizarre leftover concoctions (chocolate orange in a coating of stuffing anyone?), I threw caution to the wind in a deserted Costa and had a Black Forest Gateau hot chocolate. It was unspeakably vile. I voted never to cross that particular Rubicon again. I want my coffee to taste like coffee, not a liquified dessert. So, why I am reading about ‘PSL’s (which will always mean ‘Professional Support Lawyer’ to me)? Well, I’ve been sucked into autumnal ritualising.
Then.
I’m fascinated by how our memories work and what slices of time, images and aromas remain potent. If asked to summon up an autumnal memory, it’s this: I’m around 13 years old, sitting in a mobile hut at my senior school (that served as an added-on classroom that the older and more picturesque building couldn’t accommodate). It’s an art lesson and I’m sitting in front of a pile of leaves, particularly proud of an enormous one I’ve sourced in a vivid ochre. However, it’s my art teacher who appears to be a walking personification of Autumn.
She’s dressed in a muted olive slouchy polo neck jumper, a thick low slung belt around her waist, heavy on the hardware (this the eighties, after all). A burnished copper corduroy skirt speaks in a reassuring swish as she patrols the room of budding artists, accompanied by the solid clop clop of biscuit suede slouchy boots. Her hair, sporting the carefully styled flicks of the New Romantics topping the charts, has a conquer shine. Lips are perfectly outlined, filled in with a deep toffee gloss, eyes sparkle with an iridescent khaki wash and tawny blusher in pronounced swooshes carves cheekbones, echoing the hyper-styled MTV videos we are all inhaling along with the glossy magazines and their promises of sophistication.
What I’m also inhaling is her perfume, as she leans over to inspect my emerging leaf sketch. It’s heady and heavy, emitting a comforting warmth. It has spice and sweetness, a tang of mystery. There’s an earthy mossiness. I now know that these would be ‘notes of chypre,’ the sort of scent I’m naturally drawn to now. How I wished I had asked her what the perfume was!
Now.
Ok, our friends in the US Autumn better (if you can bare the cringe of Autumn as a verb). There’s something lovely about the word ‘Fall’ and, despite our increasing efforts - cue elaborate showboating pumpkin carvings - our Halloween efforts are pretty lame. We also now oscillate between monsoon-like downpours, warm damp drizzle and temperatures associated with a Mediterranean summer. Oversized scarves which impede your ability to turn or bend your head aren’t even getting a look in!
Despite having lived through the era The Gilmore Girls first went out, it managed to completely pass me by. Perhaps I was too invested in Friends, Frasier and Ally McBeal. However, thanks to a teen daughter, I have been enthusiastically introduced to this phenomenon and the apparent necessity to rewatch Series One at the start of Autumn as an important seasonal rite.
In fact, I have my daughter to thank for embracing the rituals of the season more vigorously. She’s lining us up to make pumpkin pie 🥧 (a million times more palatable than a PSL), and the world is suddenly enveloped in oatmeal-hued cable knit. I’ve noticed that the pumpkin-related products from the Body Shop raid have emerged from the ever-growing teen beauty cupboard. At the weekend, I found myself online, searching for products under ‘Autumn vibes’ whilst simultaneously lamenting the departure of my previous cynicism. I wanted to demonstrate, ‘Look, I get it too!’ which I did by getting her a Jellycat Pumpkin and a candle which has something to do with pumpkins and spiced buns and might give us a serious headrush.
For us, Autumn is heralded by watching Bake Off (despite the dissonance of sweltering tents and melting ganache) and Strictly. They practically bookend the week and fill us with positivity. Paul Hollywood’s stare gets more comically intense year on year and the Strictly pairings are embroiled in sexual scandals before they’ve even had a chance to show off their fleckerl. Formulaic, yes, but comforting in an uncertain world. A seasonal marker. It’s only a matter of days before we have a go at making cinnamon buns and I’m all in.
Nugget of the week
My eldest having a conversation at Uni with an undergrad wanting to go into journalism. ‘Oh, my Mum’s a freelance journalist,’ he says. Other person then ploughs on saying how they are only interested in doing political journalism and couldn’t be doing with all that ‘travel and wishy washy stuff,’ without knowing what I actually do. Eldest proceeds to simmer. Bless. I totally OWN the wishy washy, by the way but question this person’s distinct lack of emotional intelligence and inability to ask any questions given their proposed career choice.
Observation of the week
A little late with this, but being the Francophile I am, I was following the French reactions on Insta to King Charles and Queen Camilla’s visit with interest and amusement:
Poor Charlotte Gainsbourg was criticised for her lumbering walk and ‘inappropriate dress.’ Have you actually tried walking in needle-thin heels on cobbles? Personally, I thought it added to the general loucheness that we aim for in emulating the French, but entirely miss. The dress was killer.
Mick Jagger’s walking manner was also much commented on. ‘Why is he walking so fast?’ There was much consternation that he was leaving his plus one trailing in his wake. Fair, but have you not seen Jagger strut across stages through the decades? This is not a man who ambles.
Reels of footage were compiled by L’Obs (https://www.nouvelobs.com) under the heading ‘Tactilement vôtre,’ demonstrating the amount of times Macron touched, patted and grabbed le roi throughout his visit. Many arched eyebrows at this apparent breaching of protocol, which is interesting, given err history, but also not surprising given the general regard for etiquette.
Film I’ve Seen
I found myself barely drawing breath through Celine Song’s Past Lives. I’m not averse to filmic kick-assery action, but I’m a sucker for a slow burn character-led study and Greta Lee and Teo Yoo were compelling to watch. A masterpiece in the things we leave unsaid, the paths we choose, the people we love and those who know us best.