The sun is shining, the birds are chirping, and we are nearly out of the Embers and the Arys. Or, as I like to refer to them, The Awful Months of Hopeless Dark Which Rend Any Sense Of Happiness and Bunnies/Unicorns From Your Bones And Replace It With Most Unpleasant Tidings Indeed.
November, December, January, February.
Rubbish, aren't they?
It's been dark and rain and snow - break for fun snow days - then the snow gets grubby and it melts but then ices over, so it's even more treacherous and doesn't hold any entertainment value or fun factor, unless you count the fun that DS and DH have watching me fall on my behind and it's like COME ON ENGLAND. You don't need to fulfil absolutely every facet of every terrible weather stereotype that's ever been, do you?
Well, I suppose you do, if you're also going to keep the whinging stereotype going as well.
(I myself have become a champion of said sport, less than two years after my arrival here.)
But, I digress.
It is the Second of February, so in my head that means it's nearly March, which means it's nearly spring and HO-MUH-GAWD, can I wait for spring? I submit that I cannot.
There is nothing I would like better than to have a leisurely stroll in my beloved Pinner Memorial Park, observing newly hatched water fowl offspring, being cute and fluffy and squeezable-looking, stopping for a cold beverage at Daisy's in the Park, and basking in the glow of the ever elusive English sunshine. That would be a thing to behold. And behold it we shall, once all this absolute-never-ending-grey-please-just-let-me-see-a-patch-of-sky-or-something-i'll-be-your-best-friend-seriously-just-a-patch is over.
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