Spring is flip-flopping with winter. A hint of what’s to come, offset with what’s just passed. Shorts today, tights tomorrow, arctic survival the day after.
The prize of venturing through the door? Roads and trails bereft of traffic. Icicles that hang like spikes of blown glass from industrial Victorian arches and parks that pay witness to Dr Zhivago sets.
I can’t decide if this prepares you for the cobbles of France and Belgium or not. But one thing is for sure. It knocks the turbo, rollers and assorted electronica into a cocked hat.