SPRING - until it snows again.

Doo doo doo doo doo doo, doo doo doo doo doo doo, DOO DOOO DOO DOO DOO DOO DOO! The familiar strains of "Morning" from the Peer Gynt Suite (those old enough will remember that it used to advertise instant coffee) squoze their way out of my imagination and cranked open my eyelids. "Crikey! What was this?" it was sunshine, shouldering aside the cloud and waving, "Hello!". I decided not to be fooled, I got up, showered and poached some eggs. Nope it was definitely sunny, a weak and watery sunny, but a sunny nonetheless. I decided that after "Saturday Kitchen" I would replace my lost winter hat, stolen in Selfridges in December, I dropped it, and it was gone in two minutes, they didn't hand it in, probably coz it was about -5 (centigrade) outside (this was the only time I've ever wished for nits), buy some replacement trainers and that I would buy the wherewithal for making soda bread (I was inspired by a childrens' cookery programme on CBeebies). This is my equivalent of spring-cleaning, all those musty notes and lacklustre pieces of plastic in my wallet, what they need is a good air in balmy weather.
I donned my medium size pack, and headed for town, well, "headed" may not be quite the right term for: down the steep hill, up the steep hill, past the graveyard and down the other steep hill, "traipsed" may be better. One traipse later, and with the memory of the "weak and watery" shining through the crotch of my cords, I ended up in Marks and discovered a bargain in the replacement cords section (this will firmly remain a bargain, so long as I keep out of Primark). As I lovingly stuffed them in the medium pack I resolved not to cycle in them, cycling in corduroys produces a sort of reverse male pattern baldness (MPB), rather like old-fashioned teachers with pipe, tweed jacket with leather elbow patches - bilateral MPB. What were they for those patches? Did they really spend so much time with their head in their hands that they would wear out the elbows of their jackets? Let me think back over the eons to my days at school.... ok, if they were Latin or French masters then that may be true. But I digress.
Wilkinsons to buy a baking sheet... and a bird-feeder.. and two kilograms, TWO KILOGRAMS of bird feed. Even as I sit here tapping away, the bird feeder dangles temptingly from the washing line but so far, no takers. I'm also rather hoping that I have bought a bird-feeder rather than a cat-feeder, I'm quite looking forward to Summer and keeping feline marauders out of my greensward with a super-soaker.
TKMaxx for shoes, I am now the proud possessor of what appear to be a pair of Rohan clogs.
The market, spending in full swing now, but tempered with the knowledge of a decreasing amount of space in the medium pack, and a decreasing amount of muscle tone in my arms, legs and back. I buy lemons and lychees and look fondly at two large cauliflowers for £1.50 but what am I going to do with two large cauliflowers? A cauliflower goes a long way, had Jesus had a couple of cauliflowers on the mount I'm convinced he could have done double the feeding, though there might have been some grumbling from cauliflower despisers but then not everyone likes fish, look you didn't have to come here!
Actually seven lemons will go rather a long way too!
Asda, aka, Hell on Earth. The bad news - this is where I will buy my soda bread wherewithal, like flour, dense, heavy wholemeal flour, buttermilk - fat chance, ok soured cream, heavy soured cream, bicarbonate of soda (molecular weight 84.1, to put that in context water is only 18 and look how much that weighs!), and other foodstuffs notable for their density.
I traipse home, slower, with longer arms, and shoulders rounded by gravity, it's a well-known fact that gravity acts more on plastic bags than any other material (apart from the soul, where it's as heavy as sodium bicarb). But spring is here, it's here in the hazel catkins that have expanded to release their pollen (the botanical equivalent of descending testicles), it's here in the thrusting shoots of bulbs, it's here in male pigeons getting all ruffy and strutty, and most of all, it's here in the warbling tones of the ice-cream van touring the estates.