Snow falling on wellingtons

The snowfall last week, followed by sunshine on the weekend, meant that the full gamut of English winter weather was experienced this week. The famous English weather, with rain, and snow and fog and brief sunshine. The snow was even more impressive than the last fall, lasting through into the day, long enough for snowball fights in lunch breaks. There were still lumps of snow three days later around where the kiddies had made snow men. Some of the folorn little heaps still had carrots sticking out of the top, the remains of Frosty's nose.

Sunday saw a brief interval of sunshine that had me heading for the park while my flatmate was off testing the waters with her new boy. Heading towards Regent's Park and Primrose Hill, I discovered a breed of Englishman that I had thought was extinct. The wellington-boot wearing wannabe country squire who walks through the city parks as though walking through the grounds of his country estate. It almost comes as a surprise not to see a rifle broken across their elbow. A large hound-type dog usually accompanies them, dirtying up their tweeds and macs with its boundless enthusiasm for chasing things. These are hunting dogs that never get to run in the large expanses of the country, doing the tasks for which they were bred. Instead they live in apartments in the leafy belts of London.

The sunshine brings them out, along with their families. Women drive - not push, it's definitely driving - three wheel prams (or rather, since I'm in England, pushchairs) alongside, clearing a swathe with their inability to steer the large machines holding their pastic-wrapped off spring. With the weather so uncertain, the plastic covers remain on the prams just in case. Laarger childran trot alongside with balls and boots on, jumping in the mud puddles that line the footpaths, much to the disgust of their designer-clad grand mothers, walking serenely in thier wake. On the path, but gazing wistfully at the mud and longing to join his grandchild, the patriarch of the family strolls along, occasionally throwing something for his faithful hound to chase in the grassy expanses of the park. The way they walk, it seems as if they own the place, lords of all they survey. They certainly never give way to the mere pedestrian coming the other way on the narrow path who was foolish enough to think that normal confortable walking shoes would do the job. I had thought they were a dying breed, but a walk in the park on Sunday reassured me that English society hasn't changed in its essentials for centuries.

Another thing I'd thought was lost forever is spring. And there are hints that it is on its way. Yes, there was snow a week ago. Yes, it's been cold. Yes it's been miserable. But the bulbs are coming up, the magnolia trees are covered with buds, camelias are in flower and there are hints of green starting to show on the trees. It's still light-ish when I leave work, or not quite dark at any rate. There is hope for a time of spring and light and, most importantly, sunshine. And I long for it. Two winters in a row is more than anyone should have to bear. The fact that I'm in the process of planning two summers in a row in 2008 is irrelevent at the moment. I crave summer, in spite of the dire warnings of stifling heat and humidity. I want warmth! And now, with the increasing hints of greenery, I see a chance that I might make it through. But not before I do the dinner dishes...Sadly, not even Spring can save me from housework.