Spring in the South of England is beautiful. We have no bluebells here (the soil in Pamber forest is acidic. It’s carpeted with blueberries, but alas no bluebells) but there are flowers everywhere and the air is perfumed with their scent.
A week from now, we’ll be on our way to Canada. It’s crazy to travel in May—which is the best month of the year—but this time around April has been better than May in most years. We’ve already had at least twice our total springtime sunshine.
I’m still not on any hurry to go anywhere, but I have heretic thoughts about skiing making a change from all this greenery and flowers. I also have the sneaking suspicion that, if I was living in a sunny country, I may never have travelled at all. Or maybe that’s just old age talking.