I must say, we thoroughly enjoyed the BBC's Autumnwatch programmes in our house.
It's always enjoyable to watch a small furry creature going about its business in its natural environment, though there was far more to the season than just Bill Oddie.
My three-year-old daughter particularly enjoyed looking for things on PC Plum's Spotters' Club checklist. (Who's PC Plum? He's a character in Balamory. What's the story in Balamory? Wouldn't you like to know…)
Some items were easy to find: conkers, sycamore seeds, deer (assuming that the venison in the upmarket butcher's round the corner counts) and grey squirrels ? especially since the local squirrel population regards our food recycling bin as a free 24-hour all-you-can-eat self-service cafeteria.
One thing proved to be very elusive, however: the Classic Autumn Football Experience. In fact, I'd almost given up hope of spotting it this year ? until last Saturday.
This is by far my favourite time of year to watch football. I love that touch of dampness in the crisp air (ideally with a faint hint of a distant garden bonfire), the yellow leaves underfoot as you make your way to the ground (though they can make the Southgate Lane slope treacherous on a wet day) and the floodlights turned on from the start of the match.
These are all essential elements of the C.A.F.E. ? but the experience is only complete when the players get stuck in for the full 90 minutes, three points are secured (what use are mists and mellowness without fruitfulness?) and we all make our way home with cold feet and warm hearts.
God, it felt good. And my Ready Brek glow of victory warmed others too.
My wife was pleased to see me come home in a good mood at last (she was rather less pleased when I treated her to a 'Your boys took a hell of a beating' speech on Tuesday evening. She grew up in Blackpool).
The cat, who had evidently heard the Coventry result, was sitting on the sofa instead of hiding behind it.
And my daughter was utterly surprised and delighted. You know that old Billy Connolly joke about growing up thinking his local team was called 'Partick Thistle Nil'? She got pretty close to a Norwich version of that recently.
Funnily enough, though, our form for most of this season had led me to consider taking her along to some games earlier than planned.
As I discovered when my sister's children were small, it isn't usually wise to start taking children to matches before they're six or seven. There's the constant moaning and whining, the complaints of being bored and the repeated refrain of 'I want to go home', and frankly no small child wants to listen to all that.
But I wondered whether the experience of watching a series of dreadful defeats might be a useful lesson for her. For one thing, it would mean that she could start following City with a low level of expectation, which would make life easier in the long run.
More pertinently at the moment, it would teach her how to handle defeat. She's currently at that stage when she has to win at everything ? snakes and ladders, races to the next lamppost, you name it ? and bursts into tears if she doesn't.
I can't bring myself to beat her in these contests ? partly because I'm an old softie, but mainly because I have a dread of looking like the Competitive Dad character on The Fast Show ? so football seemed an easier introduction to the concept of losing.
It's an important lesson in growing up. I suspect that one of the reasons we have such disdain for glory hunters is that they seem so childish in their need to win all the time.
But if Glenn and the boys can keep the current run going (two wins counts as a run, doesn't it?), it's a lesson that's going to have to wait.
Unfortunately, the quote has been corrected now, but the BBC Sport website attributed this to Steven Gerrard immediately after the Croatia game last week:
“It's pointless saying much at the end of the game, but you've got a very disappointing dressing room.”
I thought that was a pretty accurate assessment of the team when I saw it.
Oh, and did I hear Mark Lawrenson say during the match that Croatia were giving England an 'abject lesson' in passing? If anything, it was the other way round.
And finally? Norwich has just won a silver at the International Awards for Liveable Communities. The Evening News claimed this means it's 'the second best place to live in the world', which isn't strictly true since there were five different categories for places of different sizes, but it's a praiseworthy achievement all the same.
If you're wondering, first place in Norwich's category went to? Ipswich.
No, calm down, not that Ipswich. Ipswich in Queensland, Australia.
Mind you, even I have to concede that things are going pretty well for the townsfolk of Ipswich, Suffolk, at the moment.
Twelve straight home wins, a place in the play-off positions, an imminent takeover which will clear their club's debts? and now this .
They really must think Christmas has come early.
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