In London, the changing of the seasons is never more apparent than in one of its green spaces. Battersea Park, a mere stone's throw from where I work, is where I first fully appreciated that summer had slipped away, and that autumn had arrived with its auburn blush and its crisp air. It was during one of my occasional lunchtime strolls. My iPod and surroundings were effective means of escapism on that particular day; the computer desk, plastered with post-it notes reminding me of all the things left to do before 5, seemed very far away. I remember my only concern being that I didn't have gloves - and I wasn't really bothered. Maybe the aesthetic beauty of autumn is consolation for loss of body heat; there's something quite magical about seeing bursts of red amid the greens of the park, enough to distract you from the cold wind gnawing at your ears, nose and fingers.
