Whisper it ever so quietly, but I think we might just be through the worst that winter has to throw at us.
I’m writing this down in Dorset, and though there was a ferocious wind at West Bay, whipping up huge waves that broke spectacularly over the pier, and a peculiarly spiteful heavy shower, precisely angled so that the rain penetrated deep into my left ear as I walked along the prom, it was nothing like as cold as it has been.
Better still, the roadside verges in our village of Netherbury are blessed with beautiful clumps of snowdrops, planted by the brilliant local wildlife photographer Colin Varndell and a team of volunteers, which lift the spirits whenever you see them.
I no longer feel the need to crawl into bed and hibernate whenever I have any time off. And a month from now we will reach that blessed moment when British Summer Time begins.
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