Hocus crocus

Spring guarantees a cliché

Has it sprung? Have you seen the first sign? 

You'll know it's happening when the snowdrops appear, daffodils show a glimpse of yellow, someone sits outside a pub in a t-shirt...

I approach that first glistening snowdrop with dread. It means things are going to get out of control pretty damn quickly. It starts with the weeds, then the bugs, all creeping up on you like a cheat on sports day taking small steps to get a head start.

It seems unfair. My poor chilli seeds have been sat on the window sill, my peas in the grow house, chives sown in a pot, hoping that they'll take the hint from the daffodils and get cracking. But it seems none of them have done. All lifeless and hibernating. It's as if they can't even hear the noise from the tables outside the pub next door...

Perhaps I need something else to signal that the race has started. Maybe I've become a little too down hearted about spring, despite a big of effort this year to get things going. As it happens, a little spell was cast on me this week down in Devon. Walking down the steps to a jetty, my eye took to a bold flower defying the cut-throat wind. A crocus.

I'd almost forgotten about this flower, and given I know so few flowers I really have no excuse to forget any. Strong, confident and clearly quick off the mark, I think this is the flower I and my sluggish plants need to get ahead of those dastardly interloping weeds.