Well, American-style football is back, which means the summer is over. Birthdays notwithstanding, I feel my ageometer tick over in the fall. Another summer gone. I think it goes back to school, when summer was when you really lived. It’s like you got to retire for a couple of months each year.

It’s probably due to my time in San Diego, when seasonal variation was so muted, that I came to measure the decline of summer by the start of football season.

My ultimate house would be on great crawley treads, and would oscillate north and south as the seasons progressed. If summer never ends, I never get older.