As I sat on the train this morning, open book in hand, vaguely looking out of the window at the commuters on the platform of the station we’d just pulled into, I was suddenly struck by the sound of birds singing brightly and proudly. As the doors slammed shut and the train pulled away, onwards to the grey concrete city of London, the sound of those birds stayed with me, making me feel light and happy, and I walked to the office with a spring in my step. Read more
At around this time in April two years ago I was walking through fresh snow, here in England. As I looked through my camera lens at fragile spring flowers bending under the weight of cold snow I marvelled at the surprises the elements sometimes throw up. Snow in April, who’d have thought it?
And now, having seen winter visit spring, summer has decided stop by. It’s been quite glorious this weekend, and so warm that it felt like June when I was sitting in the garden.
Wow, what a scorcher it was last week! Temperatures hit the 30s, official health warnings were issued due to the heatwave and the UK was declared hotter than the Mediterranean. It was fabulous at the weekends and even the brief shower we had on my birthday barbecue didn’t spoil things: we just made a dash for the house carrying plates of food and cutlery while a few of the boys picked up the garden parasol and brought it over the barbecue to shelter under while they finished cooking the sausages. Us Brits have become experts at dealing with rainy barbecues; you have to in this climate.