In early February, Sir Not-Appearing-in-this-Blog and I took a long weekend holiday to the Lake District. Overall, the weekend was a bit wet, cold, and miserable (I think we managed to escape on Monday right before about 2 feet of snow dropped from the sky), but Friday was rather lovely. Just warm enough to leave your coat behind during a brisk walk. The mountains wore their snowy caps with pride and I knew better than to attempt to surmount them.
I will be the first to tell you that I am NOT an outdoors kind of girl. Camping in my backyard suits me just as well as in the outback, and most of my walks in the park enough little to no incline whatsoever. But I am trying to remedy this, by running outdoors, etc. I’ve also been equipped with a rather intrepid pair of sturdy walking boots. I figure it’s my job to get UP wherever I’m going, but I’m just going to trust the boots to get me back down. They seem to know what they’re doing, so that’s fine with me. And besides that, one of the interesting things about British weather is that by the end of winter you really just can’t wait to get outside as quickly as possible. I’ve taken to wearing my lighter weight jacket in the hope that it might WILL the weather to warm up quicker. It’s not, but it might be helping me acclimate to the cold. Which is also a plus.
The approach of spring is so subtle, but it’s there if you know where to look. The sky betrays itself straight away, becoming this bright blue . . . it’s as if the bulbs and flowers can’t help but come out. In the hours between walking into the archive and walking out for lunch, it seems like six new crocus have emerged from the cold ground. I hope that the summer actually delivers this year . . . not sure I can manage another cold and rainy summer like last year (however profitable to my thesis it was).