I’m fairly reliably informed Leeds’ afternoon meteorological guest will be April showers. Precipitation no doubt welcomed with open arms by fields of arable crops and domestic spring flower beds. Flora and fauna whose exposure to almost uninterrupted Easter holiday sunshine exposing them to aridity akin to a human’s palate after ingesting ten Jacobs crackers in swift succession.

I say fairly reliably informed in the previous paragraph as if truth be told I’m not 100% certain what was communicated to me. This a consequence of the information’s source relaying the weather forecast while speaking in Hindi.

As my grasp of the language is rusty** I’m guessing the thunderclap noises he made and fluttering of his fingers were gestures indicating an upcoming thunderstorm. However, this guy in the petrol station queue could’ve merely been attempting to advise me a lightning strike had cured him of arthritis in his fingers.

** – When I say rusty I actually mean non-existent!


If a rainstorm doth visit, I’ll be pleased to see a downpour. After all, although solar rays are key to plants flourishing, equally as obvious is deprivation of two parts hydrogen and one part oxygen the warmth won’t swell the grain. Their life giving contributions required in tandem. Incidentally, the last two sentences aren’t meant to be as patronising as they possibly read, they’re merely observations how on occasion the sun can giveth and taketh away.

If you’re reading this sun that’s not a criticism of your working practises – I’m not one to bite the hand that feeds, and acknowledge I owe you a great debt of gratitude for you’re contributions throughout my existence (apart from the sunstroke in Corfu, 1982). I’ve absolutely no desire to incur your wrath, especially after spending a fortune purchasing  40 solar-powered garden lights.

Anyhow, regardless of how the sun and rain influence our crops and horticulture, the meteorological gift of solar warmth was welcomed by many of Blighty’s populace….. Well, apart from Dewsbury man Ian Cluckfast. The perma-miserable pensioner who only cracks a smile when it rains, or after purchasing a set of spare false teeth from a car boot sale…… Actually, calling the latter act a smile is probably pushing it. the upturning at the sides of the old man’s mouth more likely a consequence of jawbone extension when trying out the second-hand dentures for size.

I’m at my mum’s home as I write this narrative. Shortly, I’m going to undertake some light gardening before the rain comes (have I mentioned we’re gonna have showers?….. I think!). This horticultural maintenance part of my current carers remit; times I whimsically refer to as my George Bailey years.

As you’ll know, George Bailey was the lead character in 1940’s feel good movie It’s A Wonderful Life. A man who sacrifices his own dreams and aspirations to underpin the family business while others of his brood spend their days in the sun, possibly metaphorically powering their own garden solar lights.

To be clear, I don’t sacrifice anything major for my family, but find mischievously informing them I do cathartic recompense for not getting paid for my carer’s duties. Perversely, making them feel guilty for their occasional reliance upon me can be remarkably therapeutic.

Right, I’m off to undertake some gardening before the heavens open. Next time I write a blog I’ll be another year older, whether I’ll be wiser only time will tell……. Enjoy!