Now, again, is the winter of our discontent. Think rain, sleet and bitter winds. Think unflattering overcoats and dour-faces, umbrella-rage and cramped buses reeking of damp dogs. Think thermal underwear, woollen socks and nookyless nights beneath electric blankets. Think clothing that's pure function over form; substance over style.

Shoot me now.

And yet, amidst the falling leaves and sodden hair, a distinctly sexual zeitgeist stirs on the horizon. The Barbican is seeing autumn in with an exhibition on antiquarian seduction, whilst Francesca Galloway is busily preparing a rich collection of Indian divine and erotic love art.