Spring is sprung......

...... or not. Ne'er cast a clout till May's out they used to say. I don't know whether they meant May as in the blossom or May as in the month. (Doubtless that Watman bloke who leaves the comments will enlighten us). Neither do I know who 'they' were: some rural bumpkin types possibly. Or it could be the mission statement of the facilities section where I work. That crowd who turn off the heating the minute the bank holiday has passed regardless of the fact that we are entering the new ice age.

I've been increasing the layers of protective clothing necessary to maintain an existence in my office throughout the week. It was only today that I discovered a covert exercise of military proportions, in which fan-heaters were selectively distributed to members of the hierarchy, had occurred three days ago when we were all busy looking the other way for a government. Is this an omen of the even greater divisions we have to look forward to under the rule of the toffs I ask myself. Enraged, I 'phoned a boiler god to report that I was currently wearing a liberty bodice, a resurrected vest, a polo-neck jumper, a thick cardigan, a wind-proof coat and a pair of woolley slippers whilst running in and out of the ladies' to de-frost my fingers under the hand-dryer. I'm not fibbing either. Well, the bit about the liberty bodice may be an untruth. Boiler chief either thought I'd gone mad with cold or mistook me for someone of importance. The heating is back on.

A portent of spring manifested in my garden tonight, however. The homeless starlings arrived to feed on whatever lives in my small piece of grass. One had brought its monstrous baby; a gaping mouthed giant who chased its mother around the garden pecking her continuously until she, with some difficulty, deposited a selection of goodies into baby's cavernous orifice. I was entranced enough to miss a whole fifteen minutes of Judge Judy as I watched my first ever cuckoo in action.