Review of October 2025.

October 2025. A month so relentlessly irritating it felt like the universe had decided to run a pilot episode called Britain: The Final Straw. Honestly, if this is autumn, I’d like to unsubscribe.

The month began, as all modern British months do, with a government announcement nobody asked for. This time it was something about “streamlining public services,” which is political code for “we’re cutting something, but we’re not telling you what until it’s too late.” They wheeled out a minister who looked like he’d been grown in a vat of lukewarm custard, and he said things like “efficiency savings” and “modernisation,” while the rest of us wondered whether our bins would ever be collected again.

Then came conference season, which is when all the political parties gather in various cities to tell us how brilliant they are, while simultaneously proving the opposite. Labour had farmers turning up with tractors and banners complaining about inheritance tax. The Conservatives had it's few members arguing about who was responsible for the last 15 years. Reform UK held a meeting in a hotel function room that looked like it had been decorated by someone who’d given up halfway through. And the Lib Dems… well, they were there too, apparently.

Meanwhile, the weather decided to behave like a drunk uncle at a wedding. One minute sunshine, the next minute a storm so violent it blew half the garden furniture into the next postcode. The Met Office named it Storm Harold, because apparently we’re giving storms friendly names now, as if that makes them less destructive. “Oh look, Harold’s here!” Yes and he’s ripped the roof off the bus stop.

Public transport, naturally, collapsed at the first sign of wind. Trains were cancelled because of “adverse conditions,” “staff shortages,” “signalling issues,” and my personal favourite, “unexpected circumstances.” Unexpected? It’s October. It rains. It blows. Leaves fall off trees. This is not a surprise. This is nature doing its job. But no the rail companies behave like autumn is a new concept that’s caught them completely off guard.

Then we had the earthquakes in Scotland. Yes, earthquakes. Two of them, one after the other, up near Loch Lyon. People said it felt like “a subway train under the house.” I mean, honestly. You live in the Highlands. You expect sheep, rain, and the occasional tourist in a kagoul — not tectonic activity. I wouldn’t be surprised if next month they announce a volcano in Dundee.

And of course, October means Halloween, which used to be a simple affair involving a pumpkin and maybe a child dressed as a ghost. Now it’s a full‑scale military operation. Shops start selling plastic skeletons in August. People decorate their houses like they’re auditioning for a horror film. And children — children now expect treat bags. Not sweets. Bags. With themes. I saw one family handing out gluten‑free, vegan, ethically sourced pumpkin‑shaped biscuits. In my day you were lucky if you got a fun‑size Mars Bar and didn’t get chased off someone’s driveway.

Meanwhile, the supermarkets were already rolling out Christmas. In October. I popped into Tesco for milk and was confronted by a six‑foot animatronic Santa singing “Jingle Bell Rock” like he was trying to summon demons. I do not believe it. We haven’t even finished the Halloween tat and they’re already flogging mince pies.

Then came the public safety alerts. Bomb scares, suspicious packages, school lockdowns half of them false alarms, the other half “out of an abundance of caution.” Britain spent the month jumping at shadows. One school evacuated because someone thought a lunchbox was a device. It was a sandwich. A cheese sandwich. Although to be fair, school sandwiches can be dangerous.

And let’s not forget the cost‑of‑living updates, which now arrive monthly like depressing subscription boxes. Energy bills “adjusted,” council tax “reviewed,” food prices “reflecting market pressures.” Everything goes up except wages, morale, and the number of people who still believe any of this is temporary.

By the end of the month, the clocks went back — because of course they did — plunging the nation into darkness at 4.30pm and giving everyone seasonal depression as a free bonus. “It’s cosy,” people say. No it’s not. It’s miserable. It’s like living inside a damp sock.

So that was October 2025:  

Storms, earthquakes, political waffle, Halloween hysteria, transport chaos, and the creeping dread of Christmas approaching like a slow‑moving tax inspector.