Our "full of the joys of spring" ritual was, in all senses of the world, a washout.
I blame myself. Once again I applied the Met Office's "global warming determinator" to the weather forecast. Based on which, given that we have seen a warming trend since mid-December, I assessed that it was never going to rain again. How wrong I was.
Turned out the only spring flowers to be seen were the ultra-early daffs, the snowdrops and crocuses.
The liturgical singing of "I'm walking on sunshine" in procession transpired to be one of the wettest experiences we've known since the Moot House flooded.
Gathering Rosebuds has been put off to when we may. It's officially still winter.
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