Perhaps it is in anticipation of the nudie winter?
Actually, here in west Oz, the arrival of autumn is less than impressive. We have so few deciduous trees that it is largely indistinguishable from any other season.
Officially, our seasons are: Hot, Hottish, Hotter and Not-so-Hot.
In the early 80’s, my European parents decided they needed some fresh air and a bit of sunshine, so they immigrated to the driest continent on Earth. They had approximately five words of English between them, and Mum was terrified of flying. Still, they made it here in one piece, and Dad’s grasp of the language has since improved somewhat.
One of my earliest memories of growing up in Australia is the day we fried an egg on the pavement. Dad thought it would be hilarious to film us cracking an egg on the pavement in our yard, then stop the video, fry the egg in a pan on the stovetop, and turn the camera back on to film how it had ‘fried’ on the bricks. This would be a demonstration for the rellies back at home as to how hot it actually was here. They all fell for it, and no-one noticed the four little bare feet next to the fried egg on the ground.