The Harrison, 16 November 2012
First set second piece (complete performance):
You are bold as brass Autumn; a true English eccentric who won’t drop your hemline when the temperature plummets. You are an inspiration to us all! Tis the season to set forth in witty apostrophes, like my eighties roller boots and jaunty ‘mother of the bride’ fascinator. To celebrate your arrival, I will be investing in a pair of Spats wellies and a talking umbrella, like the one in Mary Poppins that tells when I’m over my overdraft limit.
I fancy you rotten, Autumn: you are as tasty as a baked potato on bonfire night! I gorge senselessly on you while watching Homeland, and fantasising about being sodomised by Damien Lewis.
How beautiful the season is now – How fine the air. A temperate sharpness about it. Really, without joking, chaste weather – Dian skies – I never lik’d stubble fields so much as now – Aye better than the chilly green of spring. Somehow a stubble plain looks warm – in the same way that some pictures look warm – this struck me so much in my Sunday’s walk that I composed upon it.
John Keats in a letter to his friend J.H. Reynolds.
Keats wrote “To Autumn” on September 19, 1819, at the height of his skill. He had just returned from a stroll near the town of Winchester in Hampshire, England.