Autumn is usually Melbourne's best season. It starts warm as summer reluctantly releases its grip, passes through gloriously soft sunny days, then almost imperceptibly gives way to the wet misery of winter. This year though, after a cooler than normal summer, autumn has failed to deliver on its usual promise, and is succumbing to winter with barely a whimper. The forests in the nearby hills are damp and dripping, the leaves have mostly fallen, and the toadstools are proudly showing their colours in the leaf litter. There's nothing for it but to rug up and crack open a bottle of port. Cheers.