... always has a bite to it.
In February we're lulled into a false sense that spring has sprung. Then suddenly the bright sunny days disappear, the wind picks up and we huddle back indoors.
Sixty thousand cranes set off from Spain this morning and I'd hoped to see some of them passing us this afternoon, but the clouds are too low and there's a leaden dull look not just to the sky but to the whole countryside.
No French lesson this afternoon and little reason to be outside, but feeling stuffy from too much time in front of the computer I dragged myself out and met bemused men in dayglow jackets wandering around our drive. From the electricity board, they were forlornly looking for ways to get their truck and equipment across our field to the pylon in the middle of the field beyond. I got all the French practice I needed as we discussed ditches and slopes and bridges and whether they could get along the bottom of Monsieur F's field (non).
I watched somewhat nervously as they all piled into the back of the truck and launched it at the muddy, weedy patch that one day we will call our "park". Keeping to the edge by Serge's land they skirted the bottom between the newly planted baby hedge (which is doing well, lots of tiny buds appearing) and the ditch. Then taking a sharp left off our field the truck heaved up over the grassy bridge crossing the ditch and lumbered down the grass verge of the next field towards the pylon.
After much shouted discussion, two clambered the metal frame disappearing up into the late afternoon gloom. In the sharp north wind, it must have been cold at the top. It was pretty chilly down on the ground watching them. And no sign of the cranes. So I came back indoors.
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