But despite all these minor stresses that signal the start of winter, this is by far my favourite time of the year.
It is the calm before the storm (although our neighbours down south might disagree) just before you start hearing about festive mad Friday parties and 5am Boxing Day sales.
During the Tattie Holidays - the name given to the October break because generations of Aberdeen school pupils before me got punted out to the tattie fields to earn their keep - I went on a trip to celebrate a family birthday.
We were up in the North West Highlands where you have to balance on one leg and dangle your phone at a 45 degree angle at the highest point you can find to get one bar of reception or a hint of 3G.
But who cares about the internet when you've got rolling hills covered in autumnal reds and oranges, with a vibrant blue sky and ocean to match?
It's enough to turn you into a wannabe Rabbie Burns. Luckily the Wester Ross sheep failed to break into our rented cottage as they had done on a previous visit. Both them and the Heilan' coos seemed happy to be bathing in the low October sun.
The deer, well, not so much - they were flying in front of the front car window as we were shuttling along the road to the nearest village.
(Note: no deer were hurt in the making of this column.)
My sister and I must have looked a sight though.
Both of us in our Hunter wellies with straightened hair desperate to find a newspaper every day.
You can take the girls out of the city...
There is a snag to holidaying in Scotland: the unpredictable weather.
Despite spending my life writing about it (have you seen how often we have weather stories in this paper?) I still never tire of talking about it.
I took the coach from Glasgow to Inverness before jumping on the bus to Ullapool and experienced all the seasons in five hours. Blazing sunshine followed by moody skies and there were five rainbows en route, which must mean I pocketed plenty of good luck.
Despite the bus almost being blown into Loch Broom on our approach to Ullapool as I shivered in my (not very rural) leather jacket, I mulled over how fantastic the journey was.
Getting to the other end of Scotland without a car was easier than getting to Shawlands on the train at rush hour - and that was with blizzards and high winds.
I've never not lived in a city (Aberdeen isn't a village, okay?) but I feel I've found my spiritual home.
And I'm pretty sure I could deal with the sheep better than the festive shoppers.