It was so cold last night I took to standing next to a hot oven with the door open. Not the most economical way to cook tea but the warmest.
It rained through the night and into this morning. After a morning spent lozzing around the house we were eager to get out, so we headed to the park after lunch. Old Father Gloom must have sensed our arrival as he cleared off taking his angry looking clouds with him. The high wind blew in bright white fluffy clouds and the sun’s rays shone through the gaps, when the wind dropped it felt like Spring.
After a few grey days it was refreshing to see some colour. The pink froth of blossom on the trees and the vibrant red and yellow of the tulips.
I grew up in the north-west of England, leaving for London and later the south coast when I was nineteen. I hoped I would never come back to the overcast skies of the north-west, for that reason. I don’t like the rain. Or should I say didn’t? I didn’t like the rain but I am learning to like it, especially now I live back up north. I like to describe to my son how it makes our beautiful parks more lush and green and I’m starting to enjoy staying in when its wet outside.
Of course we need the sun too. After the wonderful spell of sunshine over the bank holiday weekend my tree, the one I photograph every day on my way to work, had bloomed. The tiny buds on its many branches had transformed into a canopy of leaves.
I wonder if Spring-time inspired Bernard Sumner and Peter Hook to write Everythings Gone Green. Maybe. Nah they’re too rock and roll for that.