April come she will.....

When we were in Ecuador in the spring of 2007, our guide had a wise saying: "not for free is the rainforest". He would say this, with a phlegmatic shrug of his shoulders, whenever anyone looked anxiously at the sky. He had a point. Why worry about whether it's going to rain or not? After all, it was the rain that made the beautiful landscape of this stunning country possible.

The phrase sprang unexpectedly to mind as I was stood over a barbecue in the rain on Sunday. Instead of spending the day arguing with my dad over the existence or otherwise of the historical figure of Jesus Christ, I had elected to spend the weekend with my friends in Oxford watching the final two rounds of the US Masters golf at Augusta. I'm sure I've spent Easter away from my parents before, but there was something wonderfully liberating this year about electing to spend the time with friends instead of family. We drank beer, we drank wine, we shot the breeze about the golf, fell asleep in front of old re-runs of Red Dwarf and we generally relaxed in the company of people we've actively chosen to spend our time with over the course of the last 25 years. Are friends the new family? Is black the new black? I can never keep up with these things.

Given that it was April and we're in England, perhaps it was a little ambitious to plan to have a a barbecue on Sunday... and sure enough, no sooner had we put all of the bits and bobs out on the garden table and fired up the charcoal, than it started to rain.

I didn't mind it though. Ten days in Canada, beautiful country though it is, has given me a new appreciation of the English spring. The Rockies are stunning, no question, but where the winter snow is starting to melt, the grass underneath is like dirty brown straw. It's not surprising, really, given that it's been under a coat of snow for several months and hasn't seen a jot of sunlight in all that time, but it's still not very attractive. England at this time of year, on the other hand, is absolutely bursting with promise. Compared to Canada, of course, the temperature is extremely mild, but how pleasing is it to see the trees blossoming, the daffodils blooming, to smell the first grass cuttings of the season and to smell the changing season in the air? Of course, as Ivan from Ecuador would point out, this stuff doesn't come for free..... but if the price we have to pay for the English spring is a little rain, then I say bring it on.*

I've had a lot on my mind recently, but it was a great weekend.

---

* if it's still raining in May, however, with no sign of abatement and Glastonbury beginning to figure in my thoughts, then I reserve the right to change my mind.

(but baby you'd freeze out there)

It was the unnatural glow that made me open the bathroom window to have a look outside. I knew what it was even before I opened the window, but I had to see it with my own eyes. Snow. Bollocks. It's great when you're a kid and you might get a day off school mucking about on a sledge, but when you have to slog your way to work, it seems to be not much more than an inconvenience that makes your feet wet, your car journey to work a nightmare and the cancellation of your football game that evening a certainty.

A little later on, as I opened my car door to reach for my scraper to remove some of the snow, a little fluffy bundle fell off the roof and landed squarely on the driver's seat and began to melt. My hands were getting cold and I was not in the best of moods as I contemplated the almost virgin snow still sat on the road.

Brilliant.

And then, completely unexpectedly, somewhere along the way to work, I had a total change of heart about the whole thing. Traffic was moving slowly and carefully on roads still slick with snow and ice, and my usual ten minute journey to work was taking far, far longer than usual. I was running late, but for some reason I began to enjoy the weather. After all, surely anything that can enliven an otherwise mundane Thursday in February, the first week back in the office after a lovely holiday, is surely to be embraced?

The roads were busy, but they were also blessedly silent, with the usual noises of traffic hushed by the snow. There was an air of camaraderie amongst the rush-hour drivers too: we were all in this together. The car park at work was oddly quiet too, with people apparently marooned in their lovely houses. You couldn't see the parking spaces either, so people were just doing the best that they could. It was nice.

I left the office fairly early and, in lieu of my cancelled football game, I decided to go for a run. It was dark, and the slightly warmer temperatures meant that the snow was rapidly turning into slush, but I loved every moment of that 4 miles, even though the icy water quickly turned my feet into mobile blocks of ice. As the relentlessly random DJ in charge of my iPod took me from Jeff Buckley to AC/DC and from Scott Walker to Iron Maiden, I admired the slightly sagging snowman in the doorway of a house with his parsnip prick still standing proud; I smiled at the huddled couples walking their frolicking dogs alongside the pond; I weaved my way through the forest of waterfowl footprints in the snow along the Trent Embankment; I ran down the slippery green trails left by the first beginnings of snowmen; I tipped my metaphorical hat at the snowman and the snowdog sat on one of the benches by the river. Above all, I enjoyed the fresh air and the sense of quiet. Thursday evenings around rush hour are not normally this peaceful.



Robert Frost springs to mind:

"Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.
My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.
He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.
The woods are lovely, dark and deep.
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep."

We might get some more snow tonight, although I think it might be too warm now. I actually hope that we do. Perhaps I'm still suffering the aftershock of a happy week spent in the snowy alps, but I could swear that the world seems a slightly nicer place with a blanket of snow.

....and miles to go before I sleep, and miles to go before I sleep.

it feels like years since it's been here...

I ventured out into the spring sunshine at lunchtime today to go for a run. I don't generally need much encouragement to flee my desk, but I really like running when the sun's out. I run all year round, of course, and I'd never exactly say that I enjoy it, but there's something especially soothing about sticking your sunglasses on and running in the sun. I'm still going out in my thermal long-sleeved tops, mind you, but then I've always been a bit of a masochist when it comes to running, and I like it when I get really, really hot and sweaty as it always makes me feel like I've had to work that little bit harder. Besides, I've started leaving the hat, gloves and windproof jacket at home, so things must be looking up. It was lovely outside here today. Warm, but with a lovely breeze - strong enough to be cooling but never strong enough to feel like a headwind. A good way to spend your lunch hour, I think.

As I was running along the new path down by the river, before hooking back towards the office, I looked up and saw that the sky was filled with the sleek, streamlined shapes of swallows. They were swooping and diving and generally making flying look like it's not just a mode of transportation but a really great game. Now, we all know that one swallow does not a summer make, but they are the traditional harbingers of the summer and there were five or six of them swirling around up there so..... is it safe to wonder out loud if we might actually get a bit of summer this year? A proper summer. Y'know - one where it actually stops raining for a bit so that the sun can come out?

Now, i wouldn't want you to think that I keep a journal of these things like some kind of low-rent Bill Oddie, but I can't help but notice that I didn't spot a single swallow around here until 3rd June last year.

Oh no. I'm nothing like Bill Oddie.

Nothing at all (although I do note the grey flashes in that beard...)

So what conclusions can we draw from the fact that I've spotted a swallow a good three weeks earlier than I did last year?

1) That we're going to have a really fantastic summer this year. Really hot and with loads of sun. Glastonbury's going to be brilliant.

2) Nothing at all. The number of swallows in the sky bears very little relation to what kind of weather we'll be having over the next few months. Anyway, what about global warming?

3) That I'm an feckless, near-sighted eejit who barely looks in the sky and couldn't tell the difference between a swan and a swallow from a distance of anything greater than about 10 feet.

My money's on a combination of 2 and 3, but there's surely no harm in hoping for number 1, eh?

Or - and here's a thought - instead of rabbiting on about the weather all the time, maybe I could either:

a) just move somewhere with a somewhat more clement and predictable climate.
or
b) shut up

Or is this what happens to all British people when they get to my age? Mild Weather Obsession (MWO) brought about by living in a damp and temperate climate subject to slight fluctuations but no great extremes? How many words do the English have for rain? Is it more than the Eskimos have for snow? It must be close.....

here comes the summer....(ii)

I should be careful what I say really, as I wouldn't want to be the one to jinx it the way that some loose-lipped blabbermouth must have jinxed it last year.... but, whisper it quietly, it feels as though summer is really on the way and might even be nearly here. It certainly seems to be thinking about putting in an appearance this year, anyway. We've had a few days in a row of sunshine and pleasant temperatures this week, and you can almost hear the nation breathing a huge sigh of relief at the passing of winter, and tentatively beginning to rummage around under the bed for the flip-flops.

Thursday night is football night around these parts, but when I packed my kit this morning, it was nice to feel confident enough for the first time in months to leave my thermal base layers, my hat and my gloves behind. Indeed, the game tonight was played in absolutely glorious sunshine, with just enough of a breeze to make running around a 5-a-side court for 90 minutes or so just about bearable.

My team won too, which was nice.

34 - 22, since you ask.

Yes, really.

Keep bringing us the good news Des.



You take care now...!

[points out at the camera and winks, whilst simultaneously giving what looks disturbingly like a loose-limbed pelvic thrust]

cold, cold water surrounds me now...

At the risk of sounding like a survivalist or as a supporter of some strange millennial Christian cult, I have to say that I find it quite alarming just how close to the Dark Ages we appear to be.

A little bit of water (well, several weeks of solid rain... finishing up with a month's worth falling in a single hour on Friday), and the fabric of our nation seems to be on the verge of falling apart. Apparently 350,000 people in Gloucestershire are going to be without running water tonight - an irony that is surely not lost on them as they sit in their sodden homes.

In spite of our pride in our wonderfully advanced civilisation, it seems that we are only ever around 72 hours away from chaos.... the 72 hours that it takes for the supermarkets to start running out of supplies. Apparently supermarkets across the west of the country have started selling out of basic essentials like water, bread and milk as people panic buy now in case they don't have the opportunity later. I should think that come tomorrow, it will be a case of the survival of the fittest, as hunter-gatherers in coracles strike out looking for their next meal, and the rest are just left to rot in their lovely detached houses with double-garages.

... and to think that only this weekend I was laughing at the British National Party's plans to build a refuge in rural Croatia. Apparently this is where the leaders of Britain's premier political purveyors of racist stupidity are planning to go when the oil supplies finally run out and the world collapses into anarchy.

As The Observer reported yesterday:

"One day some in the party hope it will become a sustainable community, one that is not reliant on fossil fuels or outside power of any kind but instead is capable of harnessing solar energy and tapping into local streams for fresh water."

I'll bet that sounds like a mighty attractive proposition to large portions of South-Western England at the moment (the terrible company you'd have to keep notwithstanding).

Oh hold on, what's that last bit about tapping into local streams?

Have those deep thinkers at the BNP taken flooding into account, do you think? Wouldn't it be ironic if this blissful idyll was destroyed by rising waters caused by global warming caused by the burning of fossil fuels?

Couldn't happen to a nicer bunch of people, obviously.

(The BNP, I mean. Not the people of South-Western England. I'm sure some of them are lovely.)

it seems like years since its been clear....

Right.

That's it.

I know it's ridiculously English of me to talk about this, but I am now officially bored of the weather we've been getting this summer. It just has not stopped raining in weeks. Last month was apparently the wettest June since records began (which sounds impressive, but records only began in 1914, which isn't really so very long ago in the grand scheme of things, but I suppose the wettest summer in the last 90 or so years is still pretty wet).

Frankly I'm amazed that there's any water left in the sky to fall, but it's been relentless.

Normally this doesn't really bother me - my bedroom when I was growing up had a partially flat roof and I used to love the sound of the rain beating down on it. I like rain. Hell, I spent a weekend in a tent on a muddy farm a couple of weeks ago, and that was just brilliant.... but this is ridiculous. Occasionally the sun comes out and it looks like things might be looking up.... but before too long it's pissing it down again with renewed fury, often with the sun still out (raincoat, umbrella and sunglasses? It's quite the look this year). You can't seem to go anywhere without getting caught in it. The last few times I've been out running, I've been drenched. Now, I quite like running in the rain once in a while, but every time I go? No thanks.

It was nice for most of the day today.....and then I went out to play football and it rained solidly for about 4 hours.

Is it me? Is it something I've done? Was it something I said?

I'm supposed to be going to the One Day International between England and the West Indies at Trent Bridge on Saturday. D'you think I should get the hint and maybe take an umbrella? Or perhaps I should just save myself the trouble of a drenching and stay in bed?

I suppose it could be worse: at least I don't live in Hull.

Not because of the floods.

Just generally.