Forgive me as I slowly come to terms with summer drawing to an end.

September has already brought a gust of new problems and admittedly exciting new ventures to my desk. However, my soul is still in Cyprus and I'm struggling to look forward than back to the peace of mind the sun and sea brought to my day. I'm trying to work out how I can incorporate that same sense of well-being into my Wimbledon life as it is so easy to go slide back into bad habits.

Why is it so hard for me to go for a swim, even though when I’m there my inner mermaid is elated? Why do I insist on having my shopping delivered when all the new farmers markets springing up in Wimbledon would give me the same joy as choosing the fresh seasonal fruit in Cyprus? The answer is time. Lack of it. We are so busy doing everything, that somehow we’ve lost the basics, and I'm determined to get them back.

Sunday was my first challenge to grab Wimbledon by the horns. I opened my curtains to a glorious September sun. I still wasn't convinced so drew them half closed and read the paper with my morning coffee. By midday it was getting hard to ignore the wonderful sun protruding through a slit in the curtain and finally I decided to embrace it.

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I reluctantly switched on my phone and saw a few messages from friends and acquaintances asking if I was at Wimbledon and Putney Commons Open Day. I looked at the time and it was 1pm. With my sons away for the weekend and my daughter filling out her application for Head Girl, I asked if she would like to join me for an afternoon of ice cream and sheep hugging. She smiled and handed me my car key. We soon joined the queue of vehicles and were escorted by cheery marshals to find a parking space. We couldn't believe how busy it was. Before our eyes was a wonderful array of children laughing, friends catching up and men enjoying a pint of the local brewery's English craft beer. There were dogs jumping through hoops, ironmongers and beautiful horses pulling a cart of happy folk waving to passers by. I often feel the Wimbledon and Putney Commons Open Day is something from a Jane Austen novel and this year more than ever, it made my heart sing.

We spent the afternoon taking our time to visit all the stalls; our first stop was Gardenia of London who were selling beautiful bouquets of dried flowers and stunning plants. They proudly told us about their forthcoming 20th birthday in Wimbledon Village. I was really impressed by the number of years to weather the storm of inflated shop prices, and look forward to their celebration of a momentous achievement.

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As we all gazed to watch the beautiful dogs on the obstacle course, I could see a line-up of military tanks on the opposite side. Sitting in the sun wearing their bright red berets, I was keen to learn how they got such huge tanks into the grounds. “We drove them here.'' They said proudly, and mentioned the warm reception they got from passers-by. I was curious to learn where the tanks were parked when not on show. “In our driveways.” Replied the ex Household Cavalry. Maybe it was growing up with a policeman as a father who moved to crime prevention, but I certainly would feel quite safe from burglars having a tank of this size parked outside my house. I learnt that they named one of the tanks Ferret and it had been in five wars! They were the high-tech vehicles of the time and were used in the same way we use a hand sized mobile phone today. The importance of communication during battle was probably one of the most important weapons and it was humbling to see how much the tanks were still cared for by their owners.

It was there that I had bumped into my dear friend Jo Holdsworth, who told me all about her forthcoming show at the Norman Plastow Gallery which is part of the Merton Arts Festival and supporting Wimbledon Guild. We walked to the festival stand where her paintings were showcased alongside Peter Faulkner and other local artists who were promoting the forthcoming arts trail on 21st-22nd and 28th-29th September. Right next to them was an ironmonger who was thrilled to teach me how to weld, until he realised my straw hat and floaty dress were likely to cause a bigger spectacle if they were to go up in flames!

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On a fluffier note, it wasn't long before Amy the sheep caught my daughter’s eye and we were invited to feed her and her friends. The goose who was in Amy’s pen looked like he had spent the morning at the Wimbledon Brewery stand! The sheep and goats soon gathered happily around us blissfully unaware that their bums were facing the camera. I was amazed to hear the story of Kingston City Farm which was shut down, but the farmer was so attached to the animals, he refused to send them off for meat and got a license to house them in his garden. I would love to know how his neighbours felt about this, but it was a heart-warming story that connected my feet firmly back in Wimbledon soil. Sadly, this will be their last mobile farm appearance, but they have found a special retreat farm for the old goat who can enjoy the end of his days in a retirement home.

I dare say I hope one day I share the same fate. For now, slowly, slowly, with the abundance of autumn festivals approaching, I am falling back in love with the community, whose warmth feels strong enough to replace my love for the Cypriot sun.