Is November the most miserable month of the year? Dark (even in London) by four in the afternoon, raining more often than not, and often surprisingly cold. That the clocks have just gone back hardly alleviates the gloomy atmosphere. And the knowledge that winter hasn’t even started yet. Oh dear.

Only a couple of months ago Anne and I were holidaying in southern Brittany, swimming in the sea, taking all our meals outdoors, and grateful that the roasting heat of this French summer was abating.

Our photos seem to come from another world

If you are looking for an alternative to long, busy beaches like Beg Meil, try Port Manech. There is a coastal path over a succession of sandy bays, as well as an easier riverside walk north to the attractive village of Pont Aven – although we found that strolling halfway there and back was enough for one day.

Brittany never disappoints

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Back in Blighty we took a day trip to Chichester, which I had somehow never visited. It has much to commend it, including a treasure-packed cathedral and adjacent Bishop’s gardens, as well as an important collection of modern art at Pallant House Gallery, currently exhibiting works by Gwen John.

Then we went up north again to see Mum. On a free afternoon we took the short train ride from Upton to Hawarden in North Wales, the one-time home of William Gladstone. We enjoyed lunch with friends in the extravagant/sober Victorian building now known as Gladstone’s Library.

Next up was Oxford

A fine autumn day (until it rained) to visit Queen’s College, almost 50 years to the day since I matriculated, for a Gaudy lunch with contemporaries, including my fellow Hispanists Peter Hughes and Nick Coghlan. In the evening we went to the Gardeners Arms in Plantation Road to enjoy a couple of pints with our former tutor John Rutherford, still going strong and busy translating sonnets from Spanish and modern novels from Galician.

The town was awash with teenagers in sub fusc. There were many more girls, and far more Asian students than back in 1973. What a wonderful time in a young person’s life: full of exciting new experiences.

And a few days later we set off for La Bréchoire once more, stopping on the way to Portsmouth for lunch at The Stag on the River and a stroll around Winkworth Arboretum.

After an overnight sailing to Saint-Malo, we arrived on Halloween in fine weather.

The sunshine was not to last

The weather in Charente was terrible. Storm Ciarán was bad – wet and windy if not life-threatening in our neck of the woods – but it was immediately followed by Storm Domingos, an even more violent event, with gusts in excess of 100mph and incessant heavy rain. The lower half of our village was flooded, and the roads strewn with branches and small trees. Many people lost electricity for three or four days; fortunately we did not.

As we were both struggling with colds, it wasn’t an ideal time for Anne to celebrate her 60th birthday. But we did have lunch in Jarnac with a friend from Toulouse who had bravely driven up to stay with us.

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And so back to London

On Sunday 12 November I laid a wreath on behalf of the Herne Hill Society at our First World War memorial in Herne Hill Station. There was a respectable turnout of 25, including our Chair, Rebecca Tee and two Lambeth councillors. I sometimes have to explain that – at least in our case – it is not religious or political event that seeks to glorify war, or turn soldiers, whether conscripted or volunteers, into martyrs. Words such as king, motherland, God, sacrifice, democracy, duty and freedom are all absent from the memorial stone. It marks the death of over 550 local people, as well as the misery the war inflicted on the survivors, not least those of German origin or with German-sounding names who were verbally or physically attacked.

The suit and tie are now safely back in the wardrobe. Hopefully I won’t be needing them for a while.

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It is perfect hibernating weather, as far as I am concerned. It was 9:15am the other day when Anne and I finally forced ourselves to get up. We had both awoken earlier, then dozed off because we had no reason to get up any earlier. But aware that Christmas is lurking round the corner I’m making an effort to get at least something done. I’ve been to the dentist, the GP, the optician and the barber, none of which required to me to do much, but I can now tick them off. Soon I shall have to start looking for presents – a much harder task.

Oh, I’ve managed to read half a book

Since you don’t ask, it’s The Colossus of Maroussi by Henry Miller, which I quite enjoyed once I’d got accustomed to the exaggeration, contradiction and self-obsession that constitutes the authorial style.

Postal chaos (not for the first time) has led to a build-up of six issues of TLS, so I’ve been battling manfully with those too.

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I know; there are more important things going on in the world than my battle against torpor. I thought I could write a post without commenting on them (it’s not that sort of blog), but as soon as I mentioned Remembrance Sunday I found I could not ignore the dominant news story of the last two weeks. Whilst the Ukraine war shows no signs of ending, it has been eclipsed by the slaughter of civilians in Gaza and southern Israel. It is now very difficult to discuss the history of this long-running conflict without being shouted down. I’m not a politician, so no-one is forcing me to I express an opinion, though I do have one.

As I’ve said before, we have enough “natural” disasters (if that’s the right way to describe them), without people adding to the misery by killing their neighbours in such terrifying numbers.

It is hard to be optimistic

But if, as individuals, we can’t stop the killing then we should at least be grateful for the life we enjoy – and by “we” I mean “I”. Being bored and ever-so-slightly fed up is a luxury not afforded to everyone. (So no more moaning about the end of summer.) I’m afraid it’s going to be another Christmas when the “goodwill to all men” message will seem like a cruel joke.