January slowly inches its way towards lighter evenings

January slowly inches its way towards lighter evenings.

It may not seem like it at the moment but January is ever so slowly inching its way towards those lighter, brighter days of late Spring. But I have to tell you it may need some persuasion. There is a reluctance here to move away from the greyness and darkness of mid January but I think we can reach an agreement somewhere. Before you know it the snowdrops and tulips will make their first appearance of the New Year and winter will just seem a malicious rumour that was totally untrue.

Today I took my first steps on the road to recovery from my viral infection. A long, invigorating walk normally does the trick and in this case I think it was a five card trick. In a sense it was more of a brisk stroll rather than an exhausting sprint along Southend beach. Now I have to tell you that Southend, in the depths of winter, is not to be recommended. Years ago my family and friends did try it and this was neither pleasant nor salubrious.

It was a lazy Sunday afternoon in January and for some crazy reason my parents and their friends were gripped by an unreasonable urge to drive down to Southend. The memories may be vague and totally unreliable now but I can clearly remember stopping at one of Southend's famous and well appointed cafes for an afternoon tea. It was pitch black and at roughly 4pm in the afternoon it felt more like midnight. In fact I'm sure I saw somebody in their pyjamas nipping out for a pint of milk. The fact was that it was a freezing afternoon on the Essex Riviera and it was the kind of forgettable experience that some of us have from time to time.

Still I do feel much better. This lunchtime a group of friends and I took ourselves down to a lovely lakeside retreat and I, for one, simply revelled in the new found freedom and luxury of good health. Slowly but surely we strolled along a road in what can only be described as slow motion. In fact had we been walking any slower the chances are that a tortoise might have overtaken us. Nonetheless it was good to be alive, enjoyable as well as being emotionally, spiritually and mentally rewarding.

This had been my first chance to get out to the great outdoors without feeling awful and dreadful. The last week has been a medical irritation for me. I've coughed for my country, my body has felt like a broken articulated lorry stuck in the heaviest of traffic jams or a long tail back and I have to be honest it was beginning to get me down. But onwards and upwards. I refuse to be deterred and I will be positive. It's time to get rid of that dust and rust and venture forward but negativity keeps intruding and I mustn't let it.

 You could call it sluggishness or lassitude but to me it wasn't the best feeling in the world. Somehow my body felt as if it had been hi-jacked, stolen, kidnapped or been brutally court martialled, held hostage by time.  One minute you're sitting in the warmth and comfort watching Strictly and the next you feel as though as your whole being has been sucked out of you. You keep hoping that the wretched sensation will just pass through you like that articulated lorry in the Dartford tunnel and what happens next? You run out of petrol, faltering and spluttering and then just grinding to a halt before just subsiding and trying unsuccessfully to get to bed. Cough, cough, cough, sniffle and sniffle. How infuriating.

Do you know what? I think January is just a very arthritic month. At the beginning of the month you look out over the harbour which is what January basically reminds me of anyway and try to make out those first thrilling signs of Spring in the air. At the moment the clouds have got a slightly charcoal colour about them and then at times they resemble those log- fires you normally find in country pubs.

But January is passing along lumberingly at times but then for one glorious moment at about 4-30 this afternoon it almost felt as if somebody had turned the lights back on. The sky had that soft, velvety, smooth and idyllic tint  that felt it as if the seasons were deep in thought.  There was something delightfully go- ahead, promising and progressive about January that could have been mistaken for March if only for a couple of minutes.

Suddenly there was a sense that at some point January will throw off its wintry pullovers and coats and then fling its wintry inhibitions into the bin. I think of this time of the year as that special stage of development and transition. There is a peachy pink complexion in the early evening sky that could almost lend itself to a Keats poem. Then the black and grey patches of cloud seem to spread out in the most orderly of formations and January begins to feel and look like January again. The status quo has been resumed and what felt right to us is quite definitely right.

Anyway back to my trip to a lakeside retreat somewhere in England. It was peaceful, it was good to be alive and after that never ending Christmas break I could actually smell the fresh air again. So what did we do exactly? Well we gazed across a rural pond with the afternoon sunlight dancing and glancing across an icy stretch of water, a haven of tranquillity completely unspoilt and the afternoon was ours.

Then we were faced by huge families of ducks, swans, geese, pigeons and vast communities of every conceivable species of birdlife you could think of. It was deeply moving and very attractive. We all love nature and you felt the most privileged of all spectators. One minute the birds must have felt very neglected and left out and the next we were there to spend just a while with them. Suddenly the whole atmosphere and dynamic of the day had been turned on its head within a space of seconds. What must have been going through those birds minds as we surveyed this heavenly watercoloured canvas?

Were those birds worried about the immediate future of Donald Trump as the next President of the United States? Did they give any consideration to Theresa May agonising over the EU and the UK's hardline stance on Europe? Do you ever get the impression that one day Britain will just jump onto a plane one day and just fly off to the other side of the world in a huff? There is a real feeling of anger and  vitriolic bitterness that is most distressing. Maybe the whole world will just give up on each other in a fit of rage. If only Henry Kissinger could come out of retirement. He'd sort everybody out.

 If  I'm not mistaken there goes Angela Merkel of Germany and she's not happy you know. In fact she very rarely breaks into gales of laughter and that face could ruin anybody's day. She looks almost permanently offended and one day she'll probably lose her temper completely and we'll all be in trouble. Anway Europe is looking at Britain with a rather sinister grin and the rest of the world probably chuckles with a gentle, detached amusement. Ho Ho? Look at Britain. Now I know you haven't a great deal of time for Europe but can you please hurry up this whole process. Talk about procrastination. These delaying tactics will get you nowhere.

In fact you can probably cut the tension with a knife. Goodness only knows what those birds must have thought.  This is turning into a needle match and there is something uncomfortably poisonous in the air. Brussels can almost smell the blood. High ranking EU officials are beginning to lose their patience and to be honest this is personal and vindictive. Deep in the official corridors of Brussels there are threatening rumbles of discontent and at some point it does seem inevitable that something or somebody will give. I've never been a betting man but, if I were, my money would be on a goal-less draw, or a replay on some neutral ground. Don't you just hate boring goal-less draws? Bring on the cabaret.

 There is a festering grudge that shows no sign of healing and sooner or later somebody may just get hurt or bruised. This is no time for childish intolerance or one upmanship. It is safe to assume that nobody is better or worse in this private war of words and we may order you to go to your rooms to just cool off. It is insufferable and I've never seen anything like it.

Perhaps the birds are thinking about holding their own private EU referendum. This afternoon, in a quiet corner of England, a whole flock of birds gathered by an equally as quiet pond and pondered the meaning of life. I felt a definite chemistry and friendship because one of the birds came right up to me and seemed to smile at me very warmly and effusively. Then it all happened. All was a flutter of wings, a dramatic frisson of feathers. The ducks turned into trade union leaders, very stern and militant as if refusing to move off the picket line.  Then they all marched off together angry, seething and determined to create a commotion. I think they'd made their point.

Suddenly otherwise placid birds huddled around us like a Premier League football team in England, then flapping wildly as if rightly outraged.  It was all very hush hush and secretive. I think they were annoyed at those hard Brexiteers who were still complaining for no apparent reason. Or maybe the soft Brexiteers were just grumbling at Vladimir Putin and his grumpy old Russian gang? It was hard to tell but I'm sure one of those birds is really upset about Donald Trump. You could sense its unease because it kept asking me about Hilary Clinton and why she'd been so humiliatingly wiped out in the American election. Some of them were, it seemed. inconsolable. Consolation could not be found for our feathered friends and excuses were thin on the icy ground.

Anway our afternoon in some beautifully bucolic corner of Southern England had ended and we all retired for a spot of lunch. I kept thinking about those poor disenchanted birds crowding around us ravenously for several loaves of bread. Some looked furious and others simply resigned to their fate in life.

 It is hard to know how birds feel on some mid January afternoon. Their mood is very guarded and defensive. Still shortly it'll be February and a whole new set of feelings will descend on the wildlife of Britain. It is hoped that any discussion will not mention the EU and Brexit. If I've heard those words once I've heard them a million times. It is as almost as wearisome as a House of Commons argument. Perhaps they'll change the record one day. I can but hope.