September’s a strange, uncertain month. I find myself waiting for the summer to end and for the autumn to start, in a kind of limbo. The house is cold inside but outside it’s invariably still warm. Washing hung on the line early in the morning is still damp by late afternoon. I notice how the evenings are drawing in preparing us for the colder, darker months ahead. I persist in wearing my summer clothes but I feel chilly and resort to adding a cardigan. A glass of white wine in the garden in the early evening feels somehow too cold and thin; red seems more palatable. Salad days are fading and are beginning to give way to hot meals eaten earlier in the evening. The grapes on the vine are desperately trying to ripen before the last of the summer warmth disappears. Everything seems to be slowing down. The last of the summer roses are hanging on trying to convince us that summer’s not yet ended, but the few yellowing leaves on the trees and shrubs have a different opinion. My 'flip flops' are swapped for slippers: the summer duvet for a heavier one. Crane flies - "daddy long legs" - keep appearing indoors and spiders are beginning to make their way into the house looking for a mate. Meanwhile, I’m planning on going conker hunting this weekend to keep them away.Yes, it really does work.