The Admin of Autumn

reminders to self

My socks and fireplace, taken a few years ago by favourite photographer and friend Charlotte Bland

I have been on the hunt for a chimney sweep. Like looking for a good maths tutor, a reputable plastic surgeon, a reliable cleaner or a fulsome spot of wild mushrooms, once found, some find it hard to share their contacts. I should have remembered this when I started asking around for sweep recommendations.

Techincially, I already have a chimney sweep. I don’t know if there is an etiquette or superstition in changing, but the last time he came, he was a little bit drunk. Now look, I used to be a theatrical agent, and the entertainment industry was powered by booze, so I make no judgement. Indeed, many people did their best work after a liquid lunch, although when the alcohol was replaced by Class As it was a lot less interesting. (On one particular occasion, having set up an important rendezvous with an ITV executive who was making a bid for a big BBC name, I had to stop the exec going into the meeting until he had dealt with the cocaine bogey poking out of his nostril.) Anyway, chimneys.

Recently, someone in the village let slip that there was An Arrangement whereby a chimney sweep visited a gaggle of cottages over several days so I discovered who the ringleader was and asked if I could join the rota. “No,” she said, “not until someone dies, I’m afraid.” Judging by some of my robust neighbours living on fresh country air and Ocado deliveries, nobody is going any time soon. There was nothing for it but to beg a friend who gave me the details of a sweep on the condition that I gave her my contact for log deliveries.

Keeping warm and cosy is the first thing I think about as autumn swishes its burnished cloak through falling leaves and ripens the last of the blackberries, because I have spent years getting it wrong.

We usually run out of oil just before Christmas or as the first snowflakes settle which has resulted in un-fun moments including going to bed in my coat. It has taken the longest time for me to understand that the heating source isn’t just pumped into the house like it had been for the first thirty-five years of my life. It is something I have to check, order, pay for and have delivered. Even when we have oil, the heat disappears out of unseen gaps in the old cottage so we also rely on the log burner in the kitchen and the open fire in the sitting room, running between the two to keep them ablaze.

In addition, I gather up all the hot water bottles in the house, check the seals (apparently the rubber begins to perish after three years) and wash the covers. The same with cosy socks. The kids bought me a beautiful shell pink cashmere pair from Brora for my birthday as bed socks. I also have several pairs of thicker woollen workhorses, and some the colour of crabapple jelly (as seen in the photo) from here, which turn summer birkenstocks into instant slippers.

While I am on the subject of planning for future hibernation, let’s chat about stocking the larder. We got rid of the big chest freezer a few years ago. It was becoming more of a mausoleum than a practical kitchen appliance, what with the roadkill deer which had languished at the bottom of it for several years. Steve had been given the poor animal and, against my better judgement, I had allowed him to keep it. It was dead after all, but I have a squeamish London stomach and every time he suggested cooking a chunk I asked him if he really knew how it had died - ie. by car or by long lingering disease that made it unfit for human consumption - and how long it had been dead before it came into his possession. As he couldn’t bring himself to cook it for the dog I knew the answer.

The freezer is now three drawers at the bottom of the fridge and fills quickly with peas, fish fingers and chicken stock. It means I need to be strict with space, but I have squeezed in tubs of passata, courgette soup and bolognaise. Yes, the idea of tasting summer in November is hugely appealing, but almost as important is the ready meal ease of getting a Tupperware out before bed and knowing supper is sorted for the following day.

I also start to get a few extra things in the weekly shop. Tins of butter beans, chickpeas and anchovies. A couple of bags of taralli (those moreish Italian cracker snacks). Pasta of course. Anything with a good shelf life that I can transform into a quick meal when all sorts of weather is lashing outside and I don’t want to get in the car. It’s less of a bunker mentality, more solid housekeeping. I have written about keeping a good pantry in the past so I will unearth the piece, update it and call it a Substack post soon.

And then the annual autumn purchase. A new diary. I don’t use an online calendar. I have tried, but I don’t see things on there in the same way I do when they are written down. I don’t just use my diary for appointments, I scribble notes, I plan things in advance that may not happen and I write the food plan for the week (and try not to ignore it). It’s a living, moving structure for my life that won’t work on a screen and I like the privacy that comes from having my own physical diary. Yes I am a mother, a writer, a dog owner, a wife, a keeper of everyone else’s itineraries, but that doesn’t mean that I may not just pencil in a quick solo trip to Biarritz on a whim. Of course I never do.

A diary is an important part of my work kit so I spend some money on it. This year I was led astray by a hardback from the dreamy stationery shop, Choosing Keeping, but it hasn’t worked for me. It’s not the diary’s fault, it’s mine. I am returning to my old love, Mark & Fold, and the elegant colourway of racing green with a pre-order saving. I think their deal runs until Friday if you are tempted.

These are a few of the things on my autumn to do list along with finding the brushed cotton fitted sheets in the back of the airing cupboard. It’s my absolute best season so I want to be ready for it before it freefalls into Christmas. Like the local farmers who worked through the night to get the hay in before the rain came, it pays to squirrel things away and get organised. I would love to know what your prep is and what I am missing. And if anyone knows a good chimney sweep…

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One for the diary if you are Dorset based or keen on a trip to the coast. The Bridport Literary Festival has yet another great line up this year. I will be talking to the fiction writer Clare Leslie Hall about her runaway hit Broken Country on Tuesday 6th November and on Thursday 8th, I am hosting a discussion with cold water swimmers Emma Simpson and Vassos Alexander, focusing on their latest books about the subject. I can’t wait for this.

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My friends at The Simple Things magazine asked if I would write something about the joys of being slapdash because they know me well. It’s in their September issue along with a manifesto to encourage more people to ditch perfection. Please note, there are caveats to winging it because I am not totally irresponsible.