We had a spring last year.
The sun shone and plants had sex.
Some people did, too … though not me of course.
This year we have had a grinding, relentlessly dull, dreary and rainy late winter dragging us into the depths of depression and bitter resentment for month after miserable month.
"The rain it raineth every day" ("I stole that from Willie the Shake*")
But at long last: two whole days without a cloud!
Two! Count 'em! Two whole glorious fucking sunny days!
Suddenly it's stinkingly hot and the wisteria have woken up to realise it's almost smegging June and they should have been frantically shagging for weeks already.
Last night at Tony's gig we spent most of the evening outside on the patio, watching the crescent moon sink into a sapphire sky.
Folk in places like California (hi, guys) take this sort of thing for granted, but as this is the first time we on the east coast of Blighty have seen the sky since February it cast a magical spell that lasted well into the early hours. It was that good. Really. Had there been anybody there willing to mate with me things would indeed have gotten all unnecessary.
As it was I lay on my back with my binoculars, getting my first view of the year of such wonders as
M13 and other delights that hide behind the horizon most of the year and only peep out in mid-summer.
Unfortunately, this far north at this time of the year it doesn't get dark enough for decent astronomy until after midnight, and then you've only got a couple of hours before the light starts creeping back into the sky.
Having missed an entire spring-worth of stargazing I'm making the most of what might turn out to be the only clear weekend until winter.
And of course wandering around the city taking photos for the first time in months.
Have a spiffy weekend, people.
Make the most of me being happy. It'll last as long as the sunshine.
