The weather of late has been dry and warm.  That sounds all right, doesn't it?  Unfortunately, the cloud base has been about ninety feet the whole time, so it's not quite the Indian summer we were pinning our hopes on.  It's all very uninspiring.  I used to go to college with a chap who claimed he liked it cloudy, the cloudier the better in fact.  But he was a statistical outlier.  Most right-thinking Britons realise it's cobblers.

In fact it's been so stuffy of a night recently that's it's quite a challenge to sleep properly.  It's a double-edged bread knife, weather like this in October.  While no-one (particularly not yours truly) likes being cold, there's something "correct" about the cool, crisp slap in the kisser that autumn brings.  You mentally start to get the sweaters and root vegetables out of mothballs in readiness.  

The cusp of seasons, like this, helps us mark the passage of time.  Humanity has been doing this since the dawn of time, and there remains a residual part of our seemingly sophisticated modern brains that still lights up when this happens.  We react by bleeding the radiators, whilst our hairy grunting forebears simply used to hurl a mammoth on the barbie and hope for the best.

I always spare a pensée for my expat friends in Australia at times like this.  Surely the shortening and cooling of the days that October brings must be hard-wired into northern hemispherians?  I don't care how long you've lived in Wallamaloo-Super-Mare, you're going to feel at odds with the prevailing wisdom at this time of year.  

The flip side is true too of course.  It's particularly acute for Aussies in the UK on Boxing Day for some reason.  If you have access to one on the 26th this year, take a close look at him or her as events unfold.  No matter how jolly or convivial the festivities, the Aussie will wear a strained expression throughout.  This bespeaks a mind troubled by thoughts such as "This is bollocks.  I should be striding along the beach in a pair of Ray Bans and some brightly-coloured spud-cups."  Yes, you can run but you can't hide from your instincts.

"More sprouts, Bruce?"

"You haven't got a choc-ice, have you?"

Remember whotsisname? We were like brothers.

There was another leaving presentation at work today. It was the usual well-worn path of card, whip-round and ill-chosen words. In fairness, the chap who's leaving worked in a department who all seem very close, so the address was rather more heartfelt than is usually the case in these matters. Said leavee is moving to Australia, which makes the "you must come and visit" platitude ring even more hollow. Both parties know that "must" is a euphemism for "won't".

It's strange and worrying just how quickly genuine affection for long-standing colleagues is lost when they go. You spend the majority of your time with these people. This is normally a recipe for disaster, so when characters do actually chime, you have to suppose that it's a lasting kinship. No so. Our Botany Bay emigré will be forgotten by Tuesday next week. And unless his new life hits the Aussie buffers, he'll forget us. It's a necessary evil I suppose; no-one likes a moper in the workplace.

...I wrote "au revoir" in the card initially, but hastily revised it to "goodbye". I thick it for the best.

Cobb(L)ers

We're in the midst of an Ashes series here in England (let's not pretend the Celtic fringe are in the least bit interested in cricket because thems am not). For any foreigners reading this, the Ashes is a series of cricket matches played between England & Australia. Doesn't sound like much, does it? It's HUGE. It means so much to the respective countries that it's hard to quantify its impact on the collective psyche.

England have today beaten Australia in the second test (match), which enabled anyone with access to an Aussie male to let him have it le big style.

English and Australian men have a sibling mentality toward one another, particularly when it comes to sport. The Australians in particular won't thank me for pointing this out, but they and the English are essentially the same race, which is why they squabble so much. I am able to distance myself somewhat from "Englishness" by dint of my Irish lineage, but even I find it difficult not to gloat when England have the upper hand.

Australia are breath-takingly better than England at most sports you care to mention. The reason for this is that they take sport seriously, in a way that the English cannot bring themselves to do. To take sport that seriously is taken to be very gauche. So when the English lord it over the Aussies on the back to a rare victory, it's taken to be a bit of good natured ribbing. To the Aussies, however, it's no laughing matter.

It's this dichotomy that causes such problems between the two nations. The English can't believe the Aussies really take sport as seriously as they appear to. And the Aussies can't believe the English don't. It reminds one slightly of when an American starts up about God, thanking Him for a successful business meeting or a bountiful lunch table. It's toe-curlingly embarrassing for the English, this - really excruciating. The same is true, to a lesser extent, with Aussie sport fetishisation. Come on, mate, let it go. It's just a game.