Wardrobe

It's that time of year when you try your best to pause in your busy schedule, de-clutter your mind of work-related irrelevancies and start to look forward to the arrival of summer; only to realise it's already the middle of June and perhaps summer should be here by now; or perhaps it's been and gone already without having made much of an impact. That day you wondered where your shorts were, and spent half an hour searching the gloomy recesses of your wardrobe before giving up and sitting in the garden with the newspaper, only to feel increasingly irritable from a hayfeverish watering of the eyes and some unnecessarily loud conversations wafting over the neighbours' fence; perhaps that was summer. But we should know what to expect by now. One or two cloudy days and we miss an  entire season: we are catapulted into autumn before we have even got the lawn mower sharpened. I got round to planting, the other week, some flowers that I had bought at the end of last summer, apparently none the worse for spending the entire winter in a plastic tray. I like to think of this as a metaphor for my life. Am I frittering away the prime of my life in a proverbial plastic tray? Now that I think of it, perhaps there are better metaphors. But you get the drift.