Last night, as we lay in bed, it was almost as if a BBC special effects man was standing outside the bedroom window chucking buckets of water at the window. The sea roared, the wind howled and the freezing rain came down in sheets. By this morning, arms tired, our imaginary tormentor had moved to the roof and starting haphazardly tipping down the fake snow. Only it wasn’t fake. I don’t know who is paying this guy’s overtime, but surely he needs a break?
On Thursday this week, as the mercury feebly struggled above zero, the coldest March for 50 years was declared. In stark contrast last March was one of the warmest on record, with the same day registering a toasty 23 degrees. It’s no wonder the plants are confused. We’d planned a spring stroll around the gardens of Godinton House today, but frankly it’d be a pretty grim experience in this savage weather. We’ll reschedule once spring finally arrives. Perhaps sometime in June it will grace us with an appearance? The lack of sunshine is also debilitating – I can feel the last vestiges of vitamin D leaching away as I write. Rickets will be setting in next.
So it’s with remarkably little sadness that we’ll turn our backs on our coastal retreat and set off for our pilgrimage to Nepal and Bhutan this Friday. Kathmandu promises a balmy reception (28 degrees, yippee ki yay! Get the shorts out!) , whilst even mountainous Bhutan is four times warmer than the UK. I am excitedly researching the plants we might stumble upon in this little known Himalayan Kingdom, but will save that for another post. I’ve even treated myself to a new pair of walking boots. The fact that I am even considering a walking pole troubles me though. Am I quite old enough for one of those yet? Will I look like a Swiss pensioner?
Meanwhile today’s photographs are recycled ones, having almost bust the camera trying to snap a pot of wind battered crocuses for you this morning. It was a pretty poor show and these pretty little Snow Buntings are much prettier anyway. Bye for now ……… I’m off to pack.