Spring in the air.

Spring in the air

Now this maybe a false dawn and just a figment of my imagination but today in Manor House it really felt like spring. There was a mellowness and softness in the air that could almost be felt. But we're still in early February and winter still has a brooding presence. It could be that I'm just imagining it but this felt like the perfect day for a long walk along canal paths or sun dappled forests.

 Then I noticed acres of puddles, remnants of the showers that must have fallen at some point during the day. So it was  that it occurred to me that the tulips, snowdrops, foxgloves and daisies were never likely to appear in early February. It was wishful thinking so I pulled up the collar of my coat, realised just how deluded I'd been and accepted that winter was a genuine and unavoidable reality.

 Surely not tulips in February and yet the temptation might have been to do a spot of woodland trekking or perhaps rambling in isolated areas of the country where the only sound you can hear are mellifluous robins twittering merrily on the branch or a cawing blackbird jumping gingerly around Finsbury Park with that inquisitive air that blackbirds are famed for.

They hop around those acres of grass determined to find something and invariably end up flying off in frustration and, to all outward appearances, terribly disappointed. Sometimes life can be so tough for our feathered friends and yet how good it is to see them when they do arrive.

Here in Manor House we're beginning to look forward to those brighter, lighter days of early Spring when the cuckoo announces itself at breakfast and then the other birds drop in for a slice of toast. This is a time for shrugging off the January strains and sniffles and that moment of the infant New Year when all that seemed so damp and dejected should now be replaced by something much more hopeful.

I tend to think of February as a month of forward thinking and careful preparation for more outdoors activities rather than thinking very negatively and introspectively. Next week our thoughts turn to Valentines Day when young lovers hearts beat to the most melodious of tunes and Donald Trump may have to revise his opinion of women. But Donald does love women so maybe we've got it all wrong about him.

 And so it is that February plods along and has to be pretty good because there are so few days before March pokes its head above the privet hedges and spring is knocking on your door again. Yes what a brilliantly enticing prospect. Lighter days and mild breezes drift  into kitchens smelling of fresh bread and fresh cakes. The windows look cleaner than ever before and there is a pristine loveliness about the immediate future.

But let's not get ahead of ourselves here. We may be anticipating events before they happen and it's probably best that we take every day in February as it comes. Besides Easter and Pesach is some way off and summer seems like some far off distant planet that can only be seen with a strong telescope. When the sun does come out to play we'll all kick off our winter mufflers, sprint into the sea and look back at winter as some passing phase in our lives.

On the day that England cricket captain Alastair Cook stepped down as skipper of his country it may be the right time to think about white cricketing flannels, thick white cricket pullovers in April and all those county championship sides rubbing their hands together for warmth in June. How we love the British weather. And yet cricket is the one sport that seems to soothe fevered brows when the Premier League football becomes too much and the one game that requires deep thought, clever thinking, subtle strategies, intense concentration and great tactical minds.

Cook, of course was the man who guided England to that classic Ashes victory a couple of years ago and on British soil he achieved something that gives English supporters a wonderful kick whenever they think of English cricket against Australia. But the cricket season is certainly way off the radar and besides Lord's, cricket headquarters, is still getting used to a couple of new structural tweaks and adjustments. And yet that stunning spacecraft that is the Lord's media centre continues to take the breath away every time you see it.

Anyway I'm off to look at this year's familiar array of roses, tulips and crysanthemums that every supermarket up and down the land will once again proudly reveal. Valentines Day is the one day in the year when all men develop a guilty conscience in case they forget to buy their beloved that yearly gift of chocolates, flowers or champagne. They dwell and mull over their choices deep into the night before and then wake up in a cold sweat when Valentines Day arrives in all its splendour. Or maybe I've got it wrong.

Still it's a fine old day. Romance is so timelessly cherishable that it may be the one thing that binds us together when all seems lost. We talk about the romance of the FA Cup but that just sounds faintly absurd because when was the last time that football took somebody out for a slap up meal in a candle lit restaurant or whispered sweet nothings into each other's ear. Anyway February is here to stay. It's still light at roughly 5pm in the afternoon and I think we'll get away with that predicted cold snap. There you are. Now that's a positive thought.