A few days ago I wrote that spring started here weeks ago, and we were looking forward to it merging with the summer. I wasn't trying to crow or in any other way lay claim to some form of vicarious superiority over those who are still wearing scarves and gloves to go out, I was just explaining how things are different here, and how we experience them. Apparently I didn't make this clear enough to the Fates, because yesterday, on the traditional first day of spring, I had the following conversation with a class of 12-year-olds:
Boy (Excitedly, looking out of window in a manner suggesting he found the novels of Walter Scott rather dull): "Mr Hickory, sir, it's snowing!"
Self (With professional scorn honed over many years): "Be quiet, you stupid boy; of course, it isn't."
Chorus of boys and girls: "Er, yes, it is, sir."
And indeed it was. Briefly, turning quickly to rain, but yesterday was as cold and miserable as mid-December in Dundee. Spring felt a long way away, and still does.
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