February thinks it's April and the EU rumbles on.

February thinks it's April and the EU rumbles on.

You had to blink twice because you felt sure that February thought it was in the middle of April. But then you wiped the sleep from your eyes and the dawning realisation hit you. This is indeed the middle of February and the weather has once again caught you out. Surely the whole issue of global warming has to come under the microscope because at this rate we'll all be descending on Britain's sizzlingly salubrious seaside resorts and strolling along the prom, prom, promenades in the immediate future rather than waiting for May.

We awoke this morning to blue skies, soft, soothing winter sunshine, bright and bracing breezes and a a feeling that we were witnessing something that maybe we hadn't been expecting. Spring is smiling warmly on a country riven and torn by Brexit, tormented by a political record that is so objectionable and annoyingly cracked that some of us are praying that one day we will eventually be released from this tortuous tyranny of potty language, wretched drivel and agonising repetition.

Outside the House of Commons people from all walks of life are fluttering EU flags, bawling and bellowing their dissatisfaction, spouting and posturing their anguished commentaries, fiercely accusing with loud voices, holding up the British Government to account and then ranting for the sake of ranting. But suddenly the weather has taken a turn for the better, the birds hovering on Westminster rooftops with a mellifluous song in their hearts.

In these final weeks leading up to Britain's withdrawal from the European Union the weather is showing its kindest and most benevolent face. However, the warmth and cordiality has yet to reach the innermost sanctum of the Brussels hothouse. Here the climate is distinctly lukewarm and in fact rather nasty. There is an edginess and some would say anarchy in the air. Our most officious of high ranking EU officials are getting hot under the collar and fit to burst with anger.

Here we are stuck in the most boring game of political table tennis since the beginning of time and all they can do at Westminster is keep up this infernal din of argumentative silliness and counter productive name calling, simultaneously scratching each others eyes out and then indulging in another session of character assassination.

And yet last night on BBC's Question Time, hosted by the smooth, new and equable Fiona Bruce, one man sat there as if oblivious to time and decade, blissfully content to roll out his polished English vowels and hoping that by the end of the programme a 1950s trolley bus would be ready and waiting to pick him up from the studio.

For this man is one Jacob Rees Mogg, a man so richly conservative and principled that you feel sure that a huge portrait of Harold Macmillan still hangs in his hallway. Mogg is quite the most notable exception, so far removed from the conventional image of the modern politician that if you were tell him that rationing had finally been phased out in Britain, he'd never believe you.

Last night Mogg was once again in cracking form. Wearing a smart dark suit and stern of appearance, Mogg looked for all the world as if he was still sitting through another dull Parliamentary committee meeting or yawning insufferably through yet more references to laws and legislation. Here is a man who quietly goes about his business, answering questions with the most liquid fluency and then observing the etiquette of the occasion with an elegant burble.

Mogg of course is desperate to leave the EU as quickly as possible if only to escape those loathsome Europeans who keep telling us to do it their way. According to Mogg the sooner we set out on the road to global freedom the better. Far more preferable to strike up long term successful trade agreements with the Japanese, the far off but infinitely more lucrative corners of the Far East before popping into China for a cup of ginseng. This is so wonderfully exciting that Mogg can't quite believe Britain hadn't thought of this decades ago.

Amusingly Mogg dug out a bulky copy of the EU withdrawal agreement, a massive 650 page document that has to be rushed out and bought in the full knowledge that if you take to it bed you'll be asleep within seconds. But Rees Mogg briefly flicked through this nondescript piece of literature and still came to the conclusion that it wasn't worth the paper it was written on.

Two years on from the make or break referendum which shaped our future in the EU, Mogg was still muttering  angrily to anybody prepared to listen to him that Theresa May, the Prime Minister had better get her act together if only because time is running out. Stop dilly dallying, Mogg must have privately felt, stop procrastinating, beating about the bush, make up your mind one way or another.

And yet Ms May, not entirely sure which way to go or what decision to make in the best interests of her country, ducks into her chauffeur driven car outside 10 Downing Street, smiles obligingly for the cameras, clutches to hope and then wonders whether the Caribbean wouldn't be the worst idea. There has to be a way out of this shambles and who knows what'll happen next?

After another bloody nose from her allegedly loyal backbenchers on another EU vote, there is a sense here that even her closest Tory allies are beginning to lose patience with her. Still, our Theresa is nothing if not a doughty fighter and she'll dig in valiantly as the sighs of impatience grow louder and louder. We are not quite in Margaret Thatcher territory yet  where stubbornness can be your only weapon.

Thankfully, it's Friday and it's the end of the week so even Prime Ministers deserve a rest, a quiet brandy and a time for reflection. It must be hellish out there and besides she may think she has to unwind. Things are hotting up, the screws are being tightened and the pressure is being ratcheted up to fever pitch. There is a hint of psychological warfare in Westminster's corridors and outside the masses are ganging up menacingly, demanding their ounce of flesh and blood.

But hey come on everybody the sun is shining out there, the tulips are poised to make their yearly presence felt and before you know it somebody will broach the subject of Easter. Surely not though. February has rarely looked so good and healthy and who cares about the confusion. A day by the British seaside is long overdue. Keep calm and carry on everybody.