What a difference a day makes. After the rain and wind and grey, grey skies of January, February, and most of March, as the clocks go forward to mark British Summer Time we at last have a sunny day!
I spent about six hours pottering in the garden yesterday, much of it in just a T-shirt (plus a few items below the waist), doing all those little jobs that needed doing to start bringing the hibernating garden back to life again.
I was warm, I was happy. Content with my lot. I suspect I wasn’t alone. I suspect there were potterers in all the sunny spots whistling and smiling and thinking maybe life’s not so bad after all.
Then we go indoors, sit down with a cup of tea, switch on the telly to see what’s happening in the world, and learn about the jet that crashed on to a house in Kent.
Five dead in the plane. Oh my God. But the couple who live in the demolished house were away on holiday. Christ – how lucky is that?
The reality of the vagaries of life. And death.
As I sit writing this, just before 9am, it is overcast outside. Again. I need some more sun, I really do. I suspect we all do.
It might not have been a cold winter, but it’s been a long one.
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