Ah, Autumn mornings.
Hearty helpings of bright sunlight, with lashings of ethereal mist and a cool, damp jus. Accompanied by a crisp, fresh, green salad with mixed leaves of gold, bronze and russet.
The journey to work is a joy in these circumstances. Valleys shrouded in ghostly blankets, tendrils of mist threading their way from water courses and then, suddenly, the vibrant colours of the trees lit by a low sun. But also, there's the pillocks in silver cars, who are immune to the necessity for lights when driving through fog.
One of my colleagues phoned in to report that he would be late into the office.
"Country road. Fog. Silver car. No lights. Accident," was the brief statement.
Conclusive proof, were it needed, that evolution is alive and well and weeding out the hard of thinking.