Stirrings

– I'm never sure what to make of March.
– How do you mean?
– Well, it's not easy to put into words. But, I suppose, as months go, March is somehow – different.
– I always think February is a bit odd. Seems too short. You would have thought they would have noticed by now. And fixed it.
– February is February, and probably the better for being short. I mean, it brings the sudden realisation that the New Year has come and gone, and there you are still with a Christmas tree in the back garden waiting to be taken to the tip. Not to mention all your noble and selfless resolutions lying in tatters at your feet. So February is mildly traumatic in its own way. And then suddenly you are hurled into March. And that feeling of inadequacy and failure gets so much worse.
– I can't say I've ever noticed...
– Well, there is the dawning realisation that a sixth of the year has flown by. And hence if you felt you were under-achieving at the start of February, everything just seems twice as hopeless by the time March arrives. And then there are the faint stirrings of spring.
– Which surely are a cause for celebration.
– Or are they? You suddenly remember you have a garden – which you haven't been into since November – and things need to be done. Plans need to be made: should you re-lay that threadbare patch of lawn? Do the flowerbeds need a serious overhaul? Is it worth getting someone in who knows which end of a spade to use? And not just the garden: you start to ask yourself which bits of the house need repairing or re-decorating or re-furnishing. And so on.
– I did a bit of gardening last weekend...
– There you go. The pressure has started.
– Basically, you just don't want to make any plans. Or feel you have to get started on all the jobs that you happily ignored over the last few months on the basis that it was winter and you were justified in spending all your time on the sofa working your way through several boxes of mince pies.
– That's not entirely true... But it's uncannily pretty close.