Today, April 4, 2002 is the first day of Spring in London. Not of course the first official day of Spring, rather the first day I have felt that spring has arrived for this year.

After months of cold, damp dark it seems as if the world has come alive again. The cherry blossoms and daffodils have been around for a couple of weeks, but today it all came together. As I walked through Turnham Green, the sunlit church steeple to my right, the smell of freshly cut phosphorescent green grass everywhere, I realised why an English Summer can be truly crazy.

Being Australian I have always taken sun and Summer for granted. There is always plenty of both to go around. Northern Hemisphere European winters change one's perspective. Although not shrouded in months of complete darkness like Finland, reduced to maybe only 4 hours of true sunlight in the Winter depths tends to produce a sense of malaise.

As the daylight starts to creep back in ever increasing amounts, life really is reborn. I know now that every moment of cloudless sky and tepid warmth is valuable beyond any physical commodity. Time and tide will march unstoppably onwards and Winter will again close in with its steely grasp. Every moment spent in the office, behind a monitor, is a chance for sunlight wasted. The full lunchtime allotment must now always be used.

Today is one that will be remembered forever, like every other first English day of Spring. This day happens once every year. It should be celebrated as a national holiday.

22 Degrees Celsius is the most beautiful day ever.

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