The sun is shining into my room with intent. This is the first time it's really done more than peep apologetically round the garage before immediately sinking behind someone's roof. I’m having to duck behind my monitor to write this, lest I be blinded by its light.
Earlier, I saw a brimstone butterfly, fluttering round the garden with a serious case of ADD: Ooh! Look at this flower! No! Look at this one! Oh, what's that? A tree! My, another tree! How exciting!
Just now I saw the first bumble-bee of the year, fat and happy, inspecting my window and wondering why I'm in here when it's so much nicer out there. And it is. It's warm and sunny and the birds are all doing their swede, chirping dementedly away like little feathered tourettes sufferers: This is my tree! No, this is my tree! Fuck off, I saw it first! No, you bloody didn't, I did! It's my tree! Get your own!
I went for a short walk earlier and tried to find my way through the labyrinth of cul-de-sacs and pathways that make up this section of bungalowland. Somewhere near here there is the Moors Valley Park, a bit of forest fenced off from the other bits of forest with a few parking spaces slapped down by an entrance hut charging cars a hefty fee for the privilege of not driving slightly further up the road where it's free to park.
To be honest, I'm not really sure what's in Moors Valley Park that might make it worth the car parking fee. Despite today’s attempt to locate it and find out, I am afraid I am still none the wiser, having erred by about 90 degrees in my choice of pathway to walk down.
(Then again, I am the person who, whilst exploring Kingston-upon-Thames, managed to ?lose? Richmond Park. Richmond Park is enormous – it’s probably the biggest park in Greater London and to misplace it is quite an navigational achievement.
And I’m usually so good with maps.)
Anyway, I’ve now got better instructions on how to find the park and the next time the weather is clement I shall try again. I shall also dust down the bike and take that out – it makes errors of navigational judgement so much easier and quicker to correct. The paths in the park are, apparently, all tarmac so I won’t even have to deal with the burning thighs of death, as I used to every time I took the bike out in Reading, (a result of the two miles of grass I had to cycle over to get to Sonning Lock, my then habitual turn-around-and-go-home point).
I’m such a wimp when it comes to avoidable pain, although my stoicism when in unavoidable pain is second to none, so long as I have a piece of wood or, say, someone’s arm to clamp my teeth around.
This early springlike spell is, apparently, all due to the generosity of Mexico, who’ve given us their best warm air in return, I presume, for some of our pissing rain. Betting is that tomorrow they’ll have stomped back with a receipt, complaining that their new weather sucks and demanding this glorious blue sky back.
I just hope they get lost on their way from the carpark, and let us hang on to spring for one more day.
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