There are signs of spring about, from the new buds on my plum trees to the frantic activity of birds, who are chasing each other, though only half in jest. I have lit the combustion heater most nights during the last couple of months and the woodpile is in steady decline, though topped up from time to time by my friend Rick, who has a lot of dead timber at his property. A sure sign of the warming days is the fact of the washing on the line, which dries in a few hours. Ditto the realisation that my jeans are feeling a little too clammy and that the season of shorts is in sight.

In a few weeks I will be the best man for my friend Greg, and the following week I will be the groom myself. I think there is a hastening of the tying of the knot come September and I have joined that happy throng. My lot will be thrown in for a second time, hopefully for keeps. Ann and I will marry in one of those simple garden ceremonies with no fuss, the celebrant being none other than my choir director, Suzanne. Later, the plan is to repair to a local Thai restaurant, though the details are still (worryingly) sketchy at the moment. All is to resolved this week, my beloved tells me. And here she is, in a recent shot.