The change in season has been particularly noticeable this past week. Grey, overcast skies, heavy with moisture one day, crisp, blue skies and dragon's breath the next. The lawn is covered with a thick dew regardless. Drops cling to the blades like pearls, soaking my boots as soon as I step foot onto the luscious green. I am not a morning person, but the rhythm of the build has certainly, in the main, seen me stirring earlier, with the builders on site by 7:30 each morning. Autumn though makes me burrow back under the covers, Miss P takes to her warm dormouse bed, less keen to go outside for the dawn chorus. I hanker for freshly brewed tea and marmite toast for breakfast. Commuters shuffle, hopping from one foot to the other to keep warm, space is reduced as layers of wool suiting increases, eyes look blearier. The wrench of leaving the warm nest, of shuffling with the swathes of travellers clad in shades of black and grey is forgotten for the exhilarating moment of crossing the Hungerford Bridge before 8am as the reviving river breeze blows the cobwebs away.