What do you do now summer's over? Apart from sending the children backto school, how about a trip to night-class world, writes Rosita Boland.
August is ending, so Monday signals the beginning of autumn. Right? Wrong. Autumn officially began back on August 1st and runs until the end of October. No matter. The calendar may define August as autumn, but nobody in Ireland takes this seriously. The years when we get good weather we're in even deeper denial, right into September, which we like to call our Indian summer.
Summer in Ireland consists of two things, no matter what the calendar tells us: school holidays and a bit of sunshine. Every year we get the school holidays; the other bit is unreliable. This year we got both. For once the skies were straight from the John Hinde palette. We went full days without getting rained on. We could invite friends to picnics and barbecues without back-up plans. With luck we won't be talking wistfully about this summer next year; with luck next summer will be even better.
There's one group that seems to seize on the earliness of our official autumn. Each year, no matter what the weather, pupils have hardly left the school gates than retailers begin their back-to-school campaigns, urging parents to stock up on pens, socks and shirts. When you've been on your school holidays a mere few days, seeing their posters in shop windows is like seeing Christmas decorations in July - unseasonably eager.
But if September doesn't have as much going for it as June, it's way up there on, say, January, that broke, dark, hungover, dankly unwelcome month. If the absence of school defines summer, the start of it defines our real autumn.
Cue September, cue first days at school. Images of crying children and crying mothers - it is almost always mothers - at school gates will get their annual airing next week. There is renewed interest in the contents of lunch boxes in general and sandwiches in particular. Every year some hopeful pioneer urges parents to try out exotic sandwich fillings for their young ones, such as poached guineafowl, chargrilled ostrich or roast kangaroo. These tend to get quietly forgotten about, and the staples of ham, cheese and jam march bravely on.
For many adults September is still a second beginning to the year. At the back of our consciousness we still operate on the academic clock. January is for resolutions and a change of date, but September can still make us feel the months ahead hold fresh possibilities. Such as evening classes.
It's a fair bet that many more handbooks about evening classes are perused rather than used. They make quite esoteric reading. Even if you haven't the slightest intention of attending a class, there is something seductive about considering the merits of learning something very strange or obscure, such as how to make your own totem pole - a mental one, at least - or avoid the pitfalls of painting animals in acrylics.
Come September a post-work sub-world opens up. People leave their offices and tramp off to halls, the back of shops, classrooms, colleges and FÁS offices. They may actually want to create a totem pole - or just meet a few new people. Evening classes can apparently get quite competitive, with some students determined to master Mandarin in eight weeks; others are happy glorified shoot-the-breeze sessions.
The success of evening classes depends neither on the teacher nor on your ability to master the subject but on your fellow night-classmates. All human life gathers in night-class world. The weird and unwashed will always be with us, and many of them turn up at nightclasses, where they laugh a bit too long at unfunny jokes and stare a bit too hard. Everything about them is just too eager to express itself, from their life stories to their body odour.
Who you meet in night-class world is arbitrary, although if you choose a niche such as crochet and Christmas crafts you will lengthen the odds on meeting someone whose main interest is football.
The great thing about doing something for fun in night-class world is that there is nothing so trying as an exam at the end of the course. Some people go to night classes just to experience what it is to drop out after a couple of lessons with a clear conscience.
The best aspect of autumn is lighting fires again: proper turf, coal, wood or briquette fires that produce smoke and ashes, not those fake glowing-coal jobs that are - ha! - switched on. There is probably an opening in night-class world to teach people the dying art of setting and lighting fires, of clearing out and safely disposing of ashes, and the merits of wood versus coal, firelighters versus kindling. The open fire is part of our culture, up there with Newgrange, stone walls and Guinness.
Autumn is also a revamp-your-wardrobe time, perhaps for women more than men. We're Irish: we have lots of boots, coats and wraps. Summer sandals are grand for a few weeks, but thumping along the streets in your favourite pair of leather boots can be so satisfying. We feel more at home fully shod. It comes from the gene of the Irish horse that dwells within us all.
Keats called autumn the season of mists and mellow fruitfulness. The mists are still with us, but thanks to refrigerated aircraft holds mellow fruitfulness is with us year round, with strawberries in December and asparagus whenever you want it. About the only true remnants of Ireland's autumn fruitfulness are blackberries. If you are lucky enough to live near bushes uncontaminated by exhaust fumes, blackberrying is a brief but gorgeous autumn pleasure. No other fruit gives cream that glorious colour. And, best of all, blackberries are still free.
Horses for courses - a selection of night classes
Wine tasting
Mitchell & Sons Wine Merchants, on Kildare Street in Dublin, runs a course of six wine-tasting classes, including supper at Bruno's on the final evening, for 265. Call 01-6760766
Wedding dances
Lean how to waltz, jive and quickstep at Morosini-Whelan School of Dancing, on Parnell Square in Dublin. A nine-week course costs 8 a class. Call 01-8303613
Pet bereavement counselling
A 10-week course at Bray Senior College, in Co Wicklow, costs 70. Call 01-2866111.
Know Your Car
Sallynoggin College of Further Education in Co Dublin will teach you the basics in eight weeks for €73. Call 01-2880704.
Personal totem pole
"Relaxation and Guided Imagery on a Journey of Self-Discovery" is at Hartstown Community School in Dublin. Ten weeks cost 60. Call 01-8209863.
Irish sign language
Ringsend Technical Institute, in Dublin, runs a 10-week course. Call 01-6684498.
Memoirs
"How to Turn Your Life Experiences into Suitable Prose for Fun, Fame or Family" is at Newpark Adult and Continuing Education Centre in Blackrock, Co Dublin. A 10-week course costs €99. Call 01-2883725
