Summer's coming to an end. The old couple in the house with the big garden have swapped their pruning shears for rakes, the air is chilly in the evenings and the tourists have left; they have strapped their surfboards to their roof-racks and hit the road.

This little town is more or less dependent on surfing to support itself. For five months of the year the place is dead: just locals drinking too much. Such are the winters here.

As a child who spent several formative years in a tropical climate, British winters can be tough, so it's with a sense of disappointment that I put my sandals and Hawaiian shirts back into the cupboard in exchange for proper shoes and a musty-smelling coat. Did I make the most of the sunshine? Are my solar banks adequately recharged? Can I last till the spring?

A friend of mine threw a party last night; a celebration of the end of the season. There was a maquee and some bands and lots of familiar local faces milling around, but an air of depression saturated everything. So I drank too much and walked home in the dark and was sufficiently inebriated to purchase an end-of-the-night giant doner kebab from the vile and depraved Peruvian meat kiosk in my high street, which has made me violently ill all day.

Farewell, sweet Summer. You've been the only reason I have stayed in a job I hate for so long and now that the days are getting shorter at both ends it's time to consider what's next.

Any suggestions? Visit the forums on www.gophuramungus.com and share your thoughts.

FG