AS result of growing up in a place where the rain lashed down year round and wind from exposed oceans raged down into our little inlet, I feel rather at home with the cold and the wet, especially in combination.

Rather than depress me, I associate them with their related comforts and so I don’t mind at all when the weather starts to turn in the autumn.

In fact, I have realised that I’m a bit obsessed with this season, and all of its associated excitements. It may have started with the blackberry and apple picking, and crumble making, but now I’ve been caught up in the rest of the period’s promise. 

Summer heat and humidity does nothing for me and I yearn for the variations in temperature at this time of year. It’s wonderful to don a chunky coat, hat and gloves when it’s nippy out, and it’s similarly wonderful to shed them in a warm and welcoming home.

I love the rosy cheeks which come after a vigorous walk in the open air (with visible autumn breath), looking for horse chestnuts (to line the windows to keep the spiders away) and kicking the piles of leaves in glorious autumn colours. 

Television companies know how much we all want to curl up on the sofa under a blanket, so there’s a wealth of drama coming our way. My beloved Dexter may have finished, but there’s a new series of Homeland and any amount of other quality dramas about which to get very excited.

Stress alleviation can be achieved by assuming just such a position on a couch or chair, accompanied by a hug-in-a-mug of hot chocolate and possibly a hefty glossy magazine to keep you company during the ad breaks.

Of course, as I’m a person who originated in the land of stodge and spuds, autumn cuisine is my cup of tea, too.

Despite the mildness of the present weather, I’ve already gone into high carb alert, employing as much pasta and potato as I can in our evening meals in addition to whipping up an absolute vat of vegetable soup.

Yesterday, after a horror of a day, I drew the curtains, sat down with a full belly and the newly-arrived Christmas catalogues from some of my favourite companies – as regular readers will know, I have a particular obsession with the Lakeland brochure - and a cup of tea and a biscuit, and exhaled at the relief. 

And thinking of what’s still ahead – hot water bottles, a trip home, mulled wine and so on – was surprising manna for a troubled soul.

Keats’ “season of mists and mellow fruitfulness”, for me in 2013, couldn’t have arrived at a better time.