April showers (and drought, obviously)...

A very high tide © Mellifluous Dark

There has been talk of drought in these here parts. And, since the hosepipe ban that started at the beginning of April, it has rained and showered and been sharply sunny in London. We have had thunder, lightning, hail, pelting rain, drizzle, sunshine, wind, stillness, blue skies, soft breezes and blankets of grey cloud – all in the space of two days. L has had a crash course in British weather; happily, she is fascinated by storms, as am I. There is nothing quite like the majesty of a dark grey cloud that comes hurtling across the sky to make you remember that we are just the equivalent of little ants on this planet. Thunderstorms and the sea quickly convey our vulnerability and create (in me at any rate) a longing for tea and hot, buttered toast, or full-bodied red wine depending on the time of day. Oh, and let's not forget the Thames, which is a short distance from where I sit. Soon, the tide will be high; it will destroy unwary car-parkers, seep through some doorways and cut off roads and pathways. The spring tides are quite dramatic and strangely hypnotic – you just stare and stare at the water swelling and creeping higher. Only a fool would underestimate the strength and quiet power of this winding river. It is not a safe place for a quick dip.

(Pic: guardian.co.uk)

I recall the drought of 1976 though I was but a youngster at primary school. Normally damp southern English earth was covered in cracks like the patterns on a giraffe. The heat was searing. My mum took a trip to South America to visit some of our family and dad painted the outside of the garage, his skin growing darker by the hour. It was hotter, on occasion, back here. The plants were dehyrated and water was reserved for drinking, washing dishes and clothes, and bathing. This year's drought, so far, sees a perfect concoction of a fledgling plant's needs met, what with the sun and water alternating that makes getting ready in the morning confusing – and even more time consuming.

The changeability of British weather – where I live, at any rate – gives me an excuse for my dozens of pairs of shoes and boots, my many coats and clothes for all seasons that bulge in a minimalist's nightmare of a wardrobe. Who are these people who can be so confident of the seasons in England that they manage to vacuum pack their winter/summer clothes away once the relevant season has supposedly passed? I've given up my longing for a capsule wardrobe. Why introduce more stress into your life? It's fun to have to take an umbrella and coat, and wear at least five layers in case the weather changes. Isn't it? L has several little coats and jackets piled on to the banister, and a small selection of footwear of varying permeability. Even if it is fiercely sunny, I'll shove a waterproof thing in my bag, because, well, who am I to know, eh? All those summer days where people have gone to work wearing flip-flops and come home with stains where the rain has bled the dye and washed their feet with London pavement water, just wouldn't be the same (just one of many reasons why flip-flops should be banned on the commute to work/at work). And, what on earth would we talk about? The economy? Nah. Too predictable by half (or three-and-a-half per cent – if we want to bring inflation into it!).

Crushed conkers

There were a few crushed conkers near the little riverside car park. They lay there, burst by car tyres, beautifully brown and green and white, not yet hardened. Food for the squirrels, I imagine.

It is autumn!

Hotter than hot

I know that if I looked back at my posts from a year ago (and the previous year), I'd find myself moaning about the summer rain and the rubbish temperatures... but honestly, being pregnant in this weather is no picnic.

I'm one of those people who usually need the central heating on until June has begun. I never remove any clout till May's out, I tell you (though I did take off jumpers and wrap them around my waist when it was warm in spring). But flipping heck, this 30 degrees lark, well, it's doing me in. I'm so hot. There seems to be no breeze, no wind. I get excited when I hear the rain start and can't believe it only lasts for five seconds. Bloody teasing clouds.

Needless to say, sleeping in this heat is interesting. (I am trying not to swear, as I don't want to teach the little baby-in-belly any bad words; apparently she can hear my voice now...)

Springtime time lag

I have just about recovered from the time change last weekend that has enabled us to escape British Winter Time, or whatever its name is, so that we can enjoy longer, brighter evenings and see blooms springing up all over the place. The clematis, which has never been pruned and now has a blackbird nesting in it for the second year running, is heavy with shiny green leaves and white, scented flowers. I will miss this sprawling plant when we move later this month. I have let it grow wildly, so it hides the high wall of the building next door, and it has done me proud. If I could take it with me, I would, but it is massive: 20ft high by 20ft across, or more. The new place has a garden that is not shared, so I am looking forward to getting my fork and spade into that.

I don't know if it's the spring thing, but I seem to have developed sleep problems anew. I'm knackered. My head hurts intensely. I feel hot and cold simultaneously and consequently draw up or flick off the duvet for what feels like most of the night. This may be something to do with the weather or light, or something. Sap rising or something.

The sun always shines?

Well, the days are getting longer now. Yesterday was the winter solstice, unbelievably. Lately, I have craved springtime due to the coldness that seemed to last week after week whereas I have historically craved autumn for as far back as I can remember and been quite satisfied with its drift from cool, bright days to cold, darker ones.

It's not -18C, as it is in some parts of the northern hemisphere, but it's been quite bitter and, yes, that's fine for winter. But it's the first proper season we've had this year, which is why I'm not too pleased with it. Why this one? Why couldn't we have spring? Or summer? Or autumn? I lust for the coolness of autumn when it follows a hot (or even warm) summer, and I quite like summer when it follows a fresh spring where March is windy and April is showery. This year, and last, we had poor summers. It snowed at Easter this year and autumn was just wet, a slow tapering off of the tepid, dank London summer of 2008. Mediocre weather. It's currently mild and actually quite nice (for midwinter). But I'd swap it for four seasons that feel distinct rather than the rainy mono-season we seem to have had for 24 months.

I realise I am rambling rather a lot about the weather. But I am British – what do you expect?

Anyway, all I'm saying is, right, that I like the cold, the wet, the dank, the sun, the balmy breezes and occasional snow. But not in some bizarre random order. And not just the first three for half the year...

Spring has not sprung...

...but I am currently finishing off an article for the spring issue of a magazine and have just made reference to April 2009 in the text.

It's no wonder I don't know what day it is...

Flying south

Swallows, calling to each other, have just flown over my corner of London, no doubt going south. I wonder if they will end up near the Canada Geese that took off last night, making noises I have never previously heard. The sky was dark and the air was bitingly cold, as they communicated in a warbling, eerie pitch.

Today, the sun shone for a while but is now hidden behind pale bluey-grey haze. It feels like winter.

Up, up and away

I cycled up a hill that I thought I'd never manage today. I was tired due to a poor night's sleep and had also underestimated the strength of my legs. The day was bright, cool and sunny, reviving me (as did a scrambled eggs, pancakes and tea breakfast).

Leaves turned golden, brown and red around me, and floated down as we cycled over their crunchiness for miles, for hours. Up, up, up we pedalled. And then down, freewheeling, only the possibility of people or animals emerging from trees and shrubbery, keeping our speed down. My eye, still irritated for some reason, watered and wept as the cool wind hit my face – just the one eye dribbling a tear down my cheek. I stopped periodically to wipe it away and then carried on pedalling.

Men and women carried cameras to capture the stunning display of autumn scenery, me not among them this time as I had forgotten my Canon. You could see Canary Wharf, the London Eye, the Gherkin, all so clearly. It was beautiful.

At home, we had cups of tea and teacakes, then went to my local pub with family and friends and came second in the quiz. What a delicious day.

Too late for flowers?

I have realised that it is June and I haven't planted any flowers for summer. Is it too late?

I know it's a cliché...

...to go on about the weather, but it's gorgeous now. The days are warm – about 16-17 degrees, and the evenings are long – and getting longer. It's beautiful.

After last year's unending mono-season of 'springtumn', it's good to feel a new season beginning and the promise of warm days that go on for a stretch of longer than a weekend. I bought two summer dresses and a couple of skirts last year, in preparation for the sunshine, but didn't get to wear them. June, I recall was rainy and the rest of the summer was indifferent.

I'm one of those people who sometimes wakes up headachey when it's overcast (though I do like storms and rain), so sunny mornings and cool nights are simply perfect for a clear head. I guess that if low pressure can affect a barometer, it can affect the brain, too. Simple really.

My garden is crying out to be pruned back. It's wild. The clematis has clambered up the high walls and the shrubs are shadowing some smaller plants. Time for secateurs, followed by a warm bubble bath and a glass of bubbly, if my knees hold out, of course...

British Summer Time

So, it's BST again. We have 'lost' an hour and again debate the rights and wrongs of changing the time by an hour. It was sunny today and the day seemed so much longer than those of Easter weekend. It was great getting back from our day out at 8pm and it not being pitch dark. (We went boating in Oxford and walked around the town very slowly, on account of my bad legs.)

The day was fresh and springlike. Birds fed their chicks by the verges as we boated by, and there were tiny lambs grazing next to their mothers in Oxfordshire fields. I think I decided then that I would probably not eat lamb again. I obviously previously knew where lamb comes from, but I hadn't thought about it too deeply.

Anyway, this clock thing... I think we should stick to summertime and enjoy our longer evenings. The Scottish farmers – if is indeed them for who we change the time twice a year – surely have the same amount of daylight whatever the time? And it has been proven that darker evenings mean more accidents for children and motorists. So, why do we faff around with the time despite this?

First day of spring

I can't believe today is the first day of spring, and tomorrow is Good Friday. This year is flying at supersonic speed.

I hope you all have a happy, peaceful Easter break and have the chance to go out and see the season's new blooms. Eat some chocolate, too.

Marching on

It is distinctly springlike in London today. The sun is beautiful but there is a sharp wind blowing. The sky is a pale blue, streaked by high clouds and lower clumps that threaten afternoon rain. The clematis is blooming. I didn't prune it back last year but it doesn't seem to have suffered – it is reaching up the high walls and looks gorgeous.

It is Mother's Day today. Mum didn't want to go out – she insists on cooking – so I'll take a gift for her. Goodness knows how the day came about – there are dozens of theories – but from the days when I was a little girl and pasted coloured paper petals on to a card for her, it meant something good. It was a day for kind gestures and thanks. It still is.

My friend, SS, has sent some flowers to his late mum's best friend to place on her grave. I was telling him my plans to visit my mum and dad today when he and I spoke in the week. And then I remembered. He was OK, didn't seem upset, just told me what he planned to do.

It isn't Monday

Maybe it is the changing of the light, earlier sunrise, birds singing (beautifully) at dawn... but I can't sleep beyond about 6.30am.

I am tired. I need to go for walks and do more in the day – maybe saunter by the river or visit the many parks of this city. Working from home and having a painful knee is making me feel a little bit caged.

I woke up thinking it was Monday. It isn't – it's only Saturday, so I have two bonus days ahead. I'm not sure what to do today. A slow walk with S to our see a friend, maybe? Or maybe we'll go to the cinema, or to see live comedy. Something like that. Something...

Springtime in London

It feels like spring. It is sunny and the sky is a pale, clear blue. The daffodils are out, the clematis is budding and I have spent all morning madly cleaning, imbued with quickness of hand and foot, so much so that I grazed my hand while frantically vacuuming under a chest of drawers.

M, my houserabbit is scampering around, very excited by the sunshine and all my activity. S is at a stag day event, paintballing his way through the woods. I intend to go out now, to have some lunch somewhere nice and bright, where there are plenty of tulips so that I can take some pictures with my beloved camera.

It is a lovely camera... I like looking at it, as well as at the images it captures. Last night, I wandered to the riverbank as the sun was setting – birds cried out as they flew over the water and dived in. It was stunning. I took some pictures – they are OK in terms of composition, I'd give them a grade B – but they are not sharp enough. I need to learn to use the settings correctly.

Fighting fit(ish) and a birthday

This week has been rather too busy. Sleep has been a friend for a few nights and a foe for the others, which hasn't helped in the light of the amount of work I've had to do lately.

I woke up yesterday with a scratchy sore throat, feeling drained and dizzy. My head is blocked this morning – I doubt I recovered from the virus thing last week. The scratchy throat thing has extended to my left ear today – you know that feeling when you have to wiggle your ear as the sensation is so deep in your eardrum? I shall ignore it. Pah.

Anyway, I am now allowed to fight. Yes. Fight! I passed my kung fu grading (though when I attended class recently I was very uncoordinated and felt about as worthy of my new belt as Britney Spears would be if she were crowned mum of the year). I was embarrassed and frustrated at my ineptness and my instructor joked that he thought me passing the test must be a mistake. I smiled but I felt bad. Maybe I should have just stayed at home and rested. But I'm not that sort of person. Even when I should be.

* * * * *

One of my dearest friends, Inz, celebrated her 40th birthday yesterday. It was a lovely gathering of people she'd collected from various times in her life. I rarely see her as she lives in France but when I do it's great. We met at a writing class in the early 90s, and clicked immediately. She is funny, lovely, caring, warm, and as cute as a button.

The music – which was courtesy of the radio – was an appropriate mixture of 70s, 80s and 90s tunes. The food, provided by Inz's mum, was delicious. It was an evening of easy reminiscing, devoid of angst, as it should be.

I got home post-curfew and walked past cars covered in condensation. Everything was that bit quieter, stiller and there was ice in the air. Autumn has definitely arrived. The ivy that was green and red is now blazing scarlet.

Autumn

Autumn is here. This is deeply pleasing.

Mornings of sharp, bright sunshine. Breath you can see in the air, giving you feedback that you are alive.

Crisp leaves underfoot. The need to wear a coat and boots. Glossy chestnuts by the dozen, so shiny they seem to have been polished by Mother Nature... Perfectly-formed acorns, the targets of skittery squirrels.

The spectrum of colours... leaves blazing with fire before they die. Ivy, climbing up walls, turning scarlet for a few precious weeks in a scintillating display. Stunning.

The comfort of getting home from spending a day out, revelling in being warm and cosy.

Beautiful.

Dear morning

One of the good things about having to get up early at the weekend is that you feel like you are stealing time. It's quiet, no one else is around, and if the sun is pouring in through the windows, as it is today, you slowly start to feel energised and awake.

Tea, toast with butter and honey. A happy rabbit at my feet. And some melodious music. I don't have to start thinking yet.
----------------
Listening to: Massive Attack - Joy Luck Club
(This link doesn't take you to the song for some reason; see 'Collected' if you want to hear this exquisite song)