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A March Into Spring

It’s amazing to think the month of March is already upon us and we perch at a calendar juncture one sixth of the way through 2020’s watch. As the cliché goes ‘Time flies’……. Except on a Bank Holiday, when the French air traffic controllers are normally on strike.

Ah March….. A time of regeneration; the spring warm up act whetting our appetite for summer’s glorious accession. Always a welcome guest with its ascending temperatures, the lawn’s emergence from dormancy and kaleidoscopic splendour bequeathed by freshly sprouted bulbs.

This month will witness the commencement of productive ventures dans le jardin de Strachan. Shortly I’ll be able to cut back the remnants of last years sedum plants and feed the newly flowering primulas. Along with embarking on a one sided conversation about my horticultural aspirations for 2020, and whether Leeds United will achieve promotion, with a potted rhododendron.

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As well as tending to my plants, I’m heartened that shortly I’ll be able to give my grass some much needed ‘me time’. To clarify, I’m not alluding to the type of Californian grass which The Beatles candidly claimed Jo Jo left his home in Tuscon, Arizona for. I, of course, refer the blades which form a lawn synergy.

Currently, my eye is constantly being drawn to a solitary blue clothes peg on my mum’s back lawn; the old lady inadvertently dropping this fastener below her washing line when last retrieving the laundry outdoors. Maggie the clumsiest of launderers, not only capable of frequently mislaying the odd sock, but bizarrely has also lost trouser pockets and shirt collars in her wash load!

Footnote – As it adds nothing to the tale, I’m unsure why I mentioned the peg was blue of colour. After all, if it had been red I wouldn’t feel any lesser urge to shift it following the manifestation of an OCD event in yours truly. My fingers are twitching at the sight of the aesthetics of the grass being ruined by this plastic fastener……. Get back, Jo Jo!

Despite all this talk of March’s increasing temperatures, renewal and regeneration, I’m moved to say it doesn’t feel any warmer today, A feeling perfectly highlighted by the scene of a solitary flowering daffodil in maters front border; its leaves wrapped around the stem as if huddling against the cold. In hindsight the daff will no doubt wish it’d followed his bulb brood’s lead of not blooming too early. It has a strong constitution, though, and I’ve no doubt it’ll come through the experience as a better bulb.

It’s now shortly before midday on the inaugural day of March 2020; I’m sitting in the lounge of my East Ardsley abode, pondering whether to put the heating on as I’m on the chilly side.

I deeply begrudge utilising central heating between March and October; stubbornly opining spring, summer and early autumn it should provide warm enough temperatures negating a requirement for heating. Consequently, refusing to fire up the gas boiler unless I spot a polar bear or penguin strolling along around our cup-de-sac.

Come on Zeus and Hera, give us a break!!

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