In my little corner of France, the weather has been a little on the rainy side.  We had a good week at the end of January, but since February, somebody, somewhere, without knowing the ramifications of his words, must have said, “et bah, on a besoin d’eau hein….”  God obviously granted this person their prayers and we have been rained on for the last few weeks!

It all began with a brief respite at the end of January, a fleeting interlude of sunshine before February just started urinating on us from above. It’s as if someone, somewhere, uttered the magic words, invoking the heavens to shower us with their blessings. And shower us they did, with rain pouring down like a pissing cow (as the French so poetically put it) that had been on the lash all night , couldn’t find the loo, and could no longer keep it in.

Yesterday, we were visited by none other than Louis, the storm, and not the child of the Prince of Wales. His presence was felt with each gust of wind and every raindrop that tapped against the window.  This was proper rain.  The kind of rain that makes your Yorkshire more elderly aunts would tell you that you might want to put a coat on, but told off by your Northumbrian grandmother if you dared use an umbrella.  It was a different time…  I would dash out to do my quality control for the timber deliveries at work whilst trying to dodge the heavy showers and not get blown over by the 50 mph gusts of wind.

But amidst the downpour, signs of Spring’s imminent arrival emerge like treasures hidden in plain sight. No longer do I awaken to the frosty chore of scraping ice off my windscreen; instead, there’s a gentle warmth in the air, a whisper of hope that dances through the rain-soaked streets.

As I make my way through the soggy pathways, I can’t help but notice the subtle changes taking place. The blackthorn bushes in the hedgerows begin to bloom, their delicate blossoms a testament to nature’s resilience. Daffodils peek out from gardens and roadside nooks, adding splashes of colour to the grey canvas of the day.

And despite the forecast calling for more rain, there’s a sense of optimism in the air, a feeling that Winter’s grip is loosening and Spring’s embrace is just around the corner. It’s a feeling that stirs something deep within, a sense of anticipation for what lies ahead. As you can see in the photo, it doesn’t rain “all the time.”

We still aren’t in 100 ASA film weather, except if you only want to shoot at F1.8, and when in 400 ASA we can start to go over F8, at least during the day.  You thought I wouldn’t talk about photography?  Really? At least I can go out and catch the rain on film.  Sunnier days are brighter, but the melancholy of rain is just as special and poetic.

So, dear readers, as we navigate the unpredictable dance of Spring’s arrival, let us do so with all the warmth and humour of old friends reunited. For whether it be the son of the Prince of Wales or the ghost of various Kings of France, when Louis comes knocking, it’s bound to be a royal affair.