A whole month early:
Well that’s it then. The Crocosmia have spoken. June – June, mind you – and they’re already out like it’s the second week of August. I suppose next week we’ll be raking leaves off the lawn and carving pumpkins in our flip-flops.
But let’s not jump to conclusions. It can’t possibly be climate change. No no – that’s all a scam, isn’t it? Dreamt up by sandal-wearing yoghurt-knitters with degrees in interpretive dance and a vendetta against diesel. Never mind that the bees are coming out in February and the daffodils are blooming on Boxing Day – it’s just weather, mate. Always been a bit up and down, hasn’t it? Nothing to see here.
Forget the melting glaciers, the vanishing insects, or the fact that every year is now the hottest ever recorded. My Crocosmia are flowering early, and that’s just a coincidence. Probably something to do with sunspots. Or immigrants. Or both.
Meanwhile, the government’s still licensing oil fields like there’s no tomorrow – which, at this rate, might be accurate. But let’s not panic. So long as the lawn still crisps up to a golden husk by July and the hosepipe bans come right on cue, everything’s perfectly normal.
Carry on. Nothing’s changing. Except everything.
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