An expression we’ve heard a lot recently, what with the anniversary of the Great War but one I always use at the end of November as yet again we hurl ourselves into the minefield that is the Festive season, with zero prospect of a truce on Christmas Day.  At least we are match ready following a wonderful summer and a very pleasant autumn, although that brings me to the first item on today’s agenda.

Autumn colour – up there with Santa Claus and the tooth fairy if you are deluded enough to imagine that it can be applied to the average garden.  My own plot being on the small side nothing merits a permanent place unless it delivers in at least three seasons but plants being what they are, they all present their autumn colour at different times; the good-for-nothing, diseased horse chestnut, for example,  drops its manky leaves from the Ist September, so that for the next four months it looks as if some plant is dying a slow and unlovely death, one at a time, which is a long way from the fiery display that I wanted.  And it means that the period of time spent collecting wet, rotting leaves takes on the proportions of cleaning the Augean stables.  Oh, look it up, for goodness sake.

This is a busy time of year.  No sooner has one finished the round of summer entertainment and harvest bottling than there are countless plays, films and exhibitions to be viewed, not least the wonderful display at Strawberry Hill House, tickets still available.  Highly recommended film this week is ‘The Shoplifters’ which won the Palme d’Or at Cannes but don’t let that put you off.  Or the fact that it’s in Japanese.  I personally welcome a learning opportunity.

And so we check our bayonets and brace ourselves for D-day – December 1st when the relentless countdown to Christmas begins in earnest, with no prospect of a bomb disposal man to help.  You will not be surprised to hear that despite the many calls upon my time, preparation is already well under way.  Cards written, booze delivered, Sellotape dispenser loaded and tested. Men, for some reason unknown to me, are excused all involvement until the 24th  – how did that happen?  But for the women the moment is at hand, step forward, pick up your hip flasks and let’s go over the top.  Watch out for the leaves.

Life, I have decided, is now not going to last long enough to waste time on bad movies, and I speak as someone who has sat through way more than her fair share.  I thought ‘Slumdog Millionaire’ was tedious (Except for the bit on the train), I hated ‘La La Land’ and ‘Twelve Years a Slave’ went on for about twenty.  Don’t even start me on ‘The Colour Purple’.  Never noticing who made what, an element of  Mea culpa here,  I went to see ‘Widows’ this afternoon and it is yet another Thanksgiving Turkey, although if I must be fair, a new line,  it does feature strong women played by people picked for their ability rather than their looks.  Might this be a trend?

Ironically,  this week things had been going very well.  I went to a fascinating course about historic gardens in the City of London – there are dozens, but almost no evergreen trees you will be astonished to discover – and finally made it to the Frieda Kahlo exhibition which is brilliant.  Yesterday I motored down to Bath to spend the day with Elder Son and we had an extremely pleasant time.  It really is a lovely city when the tourist aren’t too thick on the ground although it’s multi-storey car park genuinely comes close to rivalling the one in Truro for sheer face-slapping ugliness.  Actually as does the one in Bristol now I think about it…

Despite the promise of a fine autumnal day,  the heavens opened like a re-make of Noah’s ark but we were happily right outside the Museum Of Fashion and were able to take shelter and ask a question about gloves that had been bothering me.  (Said gloves now on display at the Lost Treasure exhibition at Strawberry Hill House in case I haven’t mentioned it before). Silver lining etc etc.  which is not how I would describe the night that followed.  Last week I had the carpets shampooed –  so much more thorough than hoovering and apparently that has to be done more than twice a year – and with a karmic inevitability the cat decided this would be the perfect time to throw up all night and all over the house.  And bed. It says something of my exhaustion after the drive home that I couldn’t even be bothered to get up and kill her.

And today we remembered the ending of the Great War, the one that was going to end all wars.   I always find it a moving ceremony, especially as I recall my grandfather who died at Ypres but I can’t help thinking that remembering couldn’t have been uppermost in people minds when they had another, even bigger one just two decades later.  Or all the other ones that carry on now, in Palestine, in Syria, in Yemen ….   I might be guilty of not learning from my mistakes but so it seems is everyone else.  Time we did, people, time we did.