Apparently, spring is around the corner. I’m unsure which corner it’s hiding behind, however I wish it’d stop procrastinating and get it’s ass back to Blighty pronto.
Circling low pressure isobars are tightening like Native American’s menacing a waggon convoy in a 1950’s B-movie, fuelling the UK’s inclement weather conditions. To gain liberty from these sources of chill, we need the next season to appear over the horizon like a latter-day US cavalry division.
That being said, in fairness to the season of perennial plant regeneration and kaleidoscopic bulb colour, I’m jumping the gun somewhat beckoning it’s immediate arrival. Perhaps a consequence of my impatience to once again be garden in situ………. After all, it’s only 7th February, meaning our upcoming temperate period has a few weeks vacation left before it’s mid-March return flight to our sceptre isle.
When spring eventually walks through the UK’s arrival lounge it’ll be marked with the pomp and circumstance deserving of a season that commences the regeneration our garden aesthetics and climatic temperature. This ceremonial welcome including a Salvation Army parade, fireworks, a Jedward tribute act and a book signing by Simon Cowell’s ego.
Also incorporated within the celebration, TV presenters Richard & Judy will ritually sacrifice a goat as an offering to weather god Wincey Willis. After which the end of winter will be symbolically signified by setting fire to a copy of chef Heston Blumenthal’s book ‘Recipes For When You’re F***ing Freezing’.
The ceremony is scheduled to conclude with Wincey providing the three month meteorological forecast for spring’s watch. A prediction that if incorrect will lead to next year’s sacrifice of Ms Willis as an offering to a goat. Luckily for the Gateshead born meteorologist, she never gets the weather forecast incorrect; a gift she puts down to being “A bloody great guesser!”
I’m unsure how today’s topic of longing for spring to arrive manifested itself within my neurological corridors. I suppose I’m just fed up of being nithered (cold), along with freezing conditions restricting movement outing wise. This plight exacerbated by the existence of tumours in my wife’s vertebrae, which in icy conditions increase her health and safety risk for even the simplest of outdoor activity.
Obviously, this isn’t my spouse’s fault. In the lottery of life she didn’t buy a ticket with the prize of affliction by the odious disease (cancer). An illness diagnosed as incurable when she was just 44 years old; a spiteful nemesis that’s blighted her existence for seven years.
It’s Valentine’s Day next week. Sadly, I’m unable to stretch to treating my diminutive partner to being entertained by a Salvation Army Band, a Jedward tribute act and the burning of a TV chef’s book of winter meal recipes.
As an alternative, I intend to treat her to a date night in our modest abode, where I’ll construct her favourite cuisine (an onion tower) and entertainment will be provided by my neighbour Mike’s son Daniel hour long drumming lesson.
Before I conclude the narrative, can I ask is there anyone reading this who’s an accomplished onion balancer?……. Or more to the point is anyone reading this?!