A reluctant acceptance of Autumn

Trying to deny the unavoidable onslaught of Autumn, my partner and I packed the rucksacks with provisions, fleecy zip-up tops, a pair of jeans each (just in case we were being a little optimistic) and the life jackets this weekend. We grabbed our caps and even, which I still find amusing, the factor 20 sunscreen and headed off down to the river.

It has been just three weeks since we last rowed out to the yacht from the shingle beach, when we spent the day sailing, often seeking shade from the still very hot sun and surprisingly diving in the river from deck and swimming ashore at the stunningly beautiful and serene anchorage point on the river.

Following the rather torturous week we had both suffered at work last week, we decided as we both deserved a relaxing Saturday we would spend a few hours lazing around in the cockpit of our yacht Fedwell - so wonderfully named by her previous owner due to his wife constantly cooking onboard and keeping him well sustained with delicious casseroles.

Sitting on board in the middle of what is in my opinion one of the most loveliest rivers in Suffolk, with few distractions - even the distinctive warble of the oystercatchers on the mud banks is part of the fabric of the peace there - one has no choice but to relax.

Driving out to the small village on the edge of the River Deben, where our tender is tethered by the pub at the water's edge, I kept an eye on the ambient temperature gauge of the car's dash and was conscious that it was dropping. By the time we arrived at the boat yard's car park it was just 17 degrees Celsius. The thought that our jeans were in the bag was comforting.

We heaved the tender down the shingle to where the river met the bank, which being a spring tide was further down than usual. Keeping close in shore so that we avoided the worst of the flood tide we rowed out to Fedwell.

Climbing aboard and transferring the bags and food to the galley, we both relieved ourselves of the cumbersome lifejackets and settled down with the day's newspapers, both sighing in unison an extended breath of relief. The weekend had begun.

It wasn't long before I announced that I was going to retreat down below, although bright, and warm to some degree when the sun peered from behind the greying clouds, the wind had the signs of Autumn. An Autumnal breeze has a typical icy cold thread running through it that has a knack of slicing through clothing and pinching the skin.

We relaxed, although we headed home sooner than we usually do and as we stopped at the roadside stalls of one of the village's small holdings to purchase a few onions and Mediterranean peppers for a supper idea, I bid the Summer farewell and offered Autumn a reluctant welcome.