Where is Spring? Just because there are daffodils in the
garden and lambs in the field doesn't mean it's spring
like in these here parts. It's been a long, cold,
dreary winter that shows no sign of ending. Global warming?
Where's the warmth? Where's the sunshine gone? I've had my
winter coat permanently attached to me since last October
and just because I have finally discarded my woolly scarf
and gloves doesn't mean I am ready yet to take off my
thermal vest and jumper. It's cold, it's damp and it's
dreary (that would be the weather.... not my thermal vest).
There's more rain on the way, snow on the hills and the
blossom on the trees try to bloom under a darkened mid-day
sky.
It's May Day Holiday next week (another holiday weekend -
yeah!) but if it's as cold as this, I'll be snuggled up in
front of the fire wearing an extra pair of socks with a mug
of steaming cocoa. If I knew that summer was on its way I
would be happy. But there's been no hint of warmer weather
yet, no clue, no reason to believe I'll get to use my bar-b-
que and sit in the plastic garden chairs I bought
optimistically in March and haven't yet used. Yes, I would
gladly endure a few more weeks of this miserable coldness if
it meant a summer of scorching hot days. But then, I would
probably start complaining about it being too hot and you'd
find me lying in a shaded spot in the garden beside my dogs.
I'd be lethargic, lying with my tongue out, panting, next to
an empty water bowl.
We British are never happy with our weather are we? It's
either too cold, too hot, too dry, too wet or too windy.
We're always complaining about it yet it really doesn't
deserve it. The British weather isn't usually as extreme as
in other countries, we normally don't have typhoons,
monsoons, and
hurricanes, yet we still complain. In fact, the worst thing
that normally happens is that our reservoirs dry up ( what a
joke... ) and the nation is in uproar when some old bloke in
Northampton is told to water his roses with his stale bath
water.
So as I look out of my office window at the cherry blossom
tree, framed by a slate grey sky and being battered by the
North Eastern wind, I shall cross my fingers that the sun
will shine, but I won't hold my breath.
Glenda Young is also the writer of the
weekly Coronation
Street Update on the net, and can be contacted at:
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