Spring is the best. Almost.

I know it was fricking freezing this morning but at least it was sunny. It is almost as if you wrote that post some other time than this morning. Surely not.

Thank god at least the sun is here. On that rainy and miserable mother of a Saturday that could only be salvaged by the Cats’ win and Jimmy Bartell and Joel Selwood’s pretty faces and mad skillz I was virtually in tears, so over the winter am I.

I love spring, but she is a fickle mistress. I love the sun, the blossoms, the blue sky, the floral smells. I love it all. Except for the way spring inexplicably becomes colder and more miserable than winter sometimes. Oh and I hate the goddamn plane trees. Cute little green seed pods, you say. Itchy bombs I say. I can feel them in my throat right now. Taste them in my mouth. I hate the way they get everywhere. The house, my coffee, my throat, my everything. The only good thing about plane trees is singing about them to the tune of Flame Trees. I best stop now, because no-one needs to hear about my hate for plane trees on such a lovely afternoon.