Sheer the bandy-legged sheep you grieving Stevens, welcome to the Blind By Podcast.

It's pumpkin spice latte season, I don't even like pumpkin spice latte.

It's disgusting, it's sickly sweet, and it's full of sugar because the bitterness of

the coffee doesn't actually work with the pumpkin spice so if I fucking hate pumpkin spice

latte's, but somehow, through an incredibly effective advertising, they've managed to

become the taste of autumn leaves.

When it's September and the evenings are darkened into the corner of a guard's pants, there's

a chill in the wind, and the leaves are tinting and loosening from their twigs.

You feel a little sadness, it's natural reminding you of debt, winter is coming, summer

has gone, and somehow, the pumpkin spice latte has managed to situate itself right there

in the middle, as the solution in your brain to that feeling, and I always end up buying

one once a year, taking a couple of sips, regretting it and thrown it away, but by which

time it's too late, Starbucks have already gotten my favour, and that's what happened

earlier this week.

It was a particularly chilly day in Limerick City, it was the first day of the year that

I needed to wear a jumper under my jacket, it was overcast, but not that dark gloomy winter

overcast, our terminal overcast where the sky has the glare of a freshly painted ceiling,

and there was an aggressive breeze, wind with a bit of effort behind it, wind that brings

the smell of alleyways and the ground and the grass up into your nose, and the beautiful

sound of autumn in a city, leaves Scotland over concrete like the paws of a hundred

hallowed dogs, wetless pitter patterns and scrapes, and I was mindfully experiencing

the beauty of this, and then the pumpkin spice latte, bell went off in my head, the one

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