I hear a lot of rumblings about the pain January inflicts on a lot of people and I can’t lie, mostly it alludes me. January always feels fresh and new to me, even when faced with the arrival of snow and ice so thick my evening run became a game of chance. I think it’s the hope that comes with the light holding out just a little bit longer each afternoon that keeps me going. Spring is definitely planning its arrival, I just know it.
After a precarious walk across an icy moor I found myself faced with buckets of tulips, daffodils and hyacinths. I’m not naive enough to believe they’ve arrived in January by entirely natural means but still, I’m going with it. My mantlepiece is now fully stocked with fresh tulips, along with a glass jar filled with muscari, soon to burst open, a snip at only £4 from M&S. It sadly didn’t come in white so in a few times my mantle will be crowned by a vibrant purple.
I’m willing to accept that sudden outburst of colour if it gives me an element of hope spring really is en route. Until those buds open, I have tulips. Lots of tulips. Arranged in a bit of a ramshackle manner in a series of glass vases, bottles and jam jars I’ve amassed over the years.