Topsy-Turvy, Seasonally

Oh my stars and whiskers, dear readers.  What the [expletive] is going on?  It's late September.  It's officially autumn.  In addition to that, Londoners haven't taken their coats off since 2010.  And yet, at 3:38pm today, Google told me that:

Holy moley.  I mean, holy [expletive] moley.

I could get used to this except that I had finally reconciled myself to not having a proper summer this year and now I'm all upside-down.

As I took today off work, I spent most of the afternoon in the garden playing with Violet, the youngest child of my landlord family, which was delightful.  I'm currently now babysitting for Violet and her brothers - we worked out a deal soon after I moved in by which my rent was decreased by x per month in exchange for a few nights of childminding a month.  The kids were put to bed almost an hour ago and I can still hear the boys chattering away in their bunkbed, but I'm feeling generous so I'll give them a few more minutes before I tell them that, really, they need to stop talking because they're making so much noise that they're going to keep themselves awake.  (I'm pretty sure that Samuel, the oldest at 7, doesn't entirely believe me when I say this; he looked at me quizzically the last time I had to go up to give a variation on this theme as if to say, "That's possible, but let me test out your theory.")

Anyway, the point is that I'm totally confused by this glorious Indian summer we're having.  Because I'm so in the zone with autumn at the moment, I've gone a bit woozy over chunky soups and meaty stews and hearty sauces.  My Le Creuset dutch oven seems to live either on the hob or on the drying rack these days.  I stopped at Borough Market on my way home after lunch aujourd'hui just to see what new nommy noms have come into season since I last visited - the supermarkets lie about this, you know; my big local Sainsbury's still somehow chemically has broad/fava beans in the vegetable aisle - and I really should have stocked up on the last of the tomatoes and sweetcorn and other agricultural things that would have helped me celebrate the sun and heat.  However, this little voice in my ear said, as I walked past The Ginger Pig's stall, "Hey, look, rabbits!  They're only £5 each, you know.  It really would be throwing away money if you didn't buy one."

totally inappropriate, but I've had What's Opera, Doc? stuck in my head for hours

So I find myself with a rabbit stew bubbling away on the stove.  I used this recipe, which I first experimented with just over a year ago, except that I skipped the chorizo and celery and added mushrooms.  I'm going to treat it as a fancy-schmancy bolognaise and ladle it over tagliatelle.  And, just like that, we're seasonally appropriate again!  At least, until I wake up to tomorrow's scorcher...