Forget your rural cuckoos or your suburban daffodils. Here in the city we have out own reminders of the seasons’ advance (apart from the obvious one of no longer having to leave in the dark and come home in the dark). I’ve already written about the drumming of the urban woodpecker , and the migratory return of the first flip-flops of summer. But there are other little clues, too. The emergence from hibernation of the shy, retiring fair-weather bicycles clogging up the bike racks at the station. And – along with the stink of fox in front garden – the first really rank whiff of urine in the underpass at Vauxhall. Ah, the scents of summer.
Meanwhile – and this is entirely off topic, but I cannot resist – I noticed that the Guardian has got its dates muddled up again and is running the Army’s spoof April Fool recruiting advert four days late:
‘You’re lost with no GPS, map or compass,’ it says. ‘Where do you go from here?’