Aberdeenshire was warmer than Rome this week. 18 degrees was recorded, breaking
a record of 17 degrees, set in Victorian times in that part of the world, so
let’s not immediately assume that global warming is to blame. I suspect though
that this February will prove the warmest in UK history. It’s the benignity
(spell check didn’t pull me up on this) and pleasantness which is the most
striking. February is often grey, often cold but this month it feels positively Mediterranean
in London. Sunshine, blue skies and no wind. It is slightly disconcerting. The
internal body clock senses that something is not quite right and the birds will
feel the same. Although they have a biological clock that uses daylight hours
to determine the season, the length of this mild spell must be tricky for them
to understand. The garden is relatively quiet, the robin is ever present, and
the other usual suspects but it’s all rather peaceful. A solitary bumble bee
appeared yesterday but there’s nothing pollinating out there so it flew off,
clearly confused. As for the birds, I assume they don’t need so much access to
the food that is put out for them or maybe they’re just chilling. Either way
they must be in shock at how trouble-free this winter seems to be.
Thirty-three years ago, February
1986, the birds, wildlife and people of Britain were succumbing to a different
type of shock. A blocked month when the winds came entirely from Siberia, essentially
freezing us solid. We like to call it “the beast from the East” these days as
we’re very fond of our set phrases, presumably due to collective failing memory
as technology further reduces our need to actually use our memories, or brains
for that matter. This weather event was a particularly extraordinary one for
the UK, as our winds come predominantly from the Atlantic. We do at times feel
the chill of easterly winds but for an entire month is almost unheard of. It is
one that I’m too young to remember, I’m afraid, except seeing an icicle under a
bridge after school one day. Almost an entire month of freezing temperatures
would have had a dramatic effect on wildlife though nature usually finds a way
of recovering.
Quite what will happen this year if, as claimed, March stays mild too,
is harder to predict. A cold spell in late March or April, which often occurs,
could be damaging if the birds ignore their biological clocks and start
breeding early. It is a strange thing as aesthetically it is undeniably pleasant.
What’s not to like about this mild spring like weather? It just feels a bit more
normal when it happens in mid-march. Bees appear, days are longer, the sun a
little bit warmer. Nature is beginning to wake up. When it occurs a month early
I can’t quite relax. Maybe I should just move to the Mediterranean?
One further thing about that month
of February 1986 was my introduction to the joys of the five nations rugby
tournament as it was then. More of a re-introduction as had I watched it before
on occasion and remember Scotland winning the Grand Slam in 1984. However, on a
Saturday afternoon in that month, my football game must have been cancelled due
to the weather as I found myself watching Wales v Scotland at Cardiff Arms Park
on the TV. I still remember the excitement as Scotland seemed to scored try
after try and still the bloody Welsh beat us. With a penalty from inside the Welsh
half by a guy called Paul Thorburn. “Whoof, what a belt he’s given it” screamed
the late great Bill McLaren. Rugby was the loser that days as Welsh penalties
essentially won the game but never mind, it prepared me well for the next
thirty years. Scottish rugby flatters to deceive much of the time, sometimes it
just deceives. And these days, finally, we have some serious world class
talent; Finn Russell, Stuart Hogg etc. and they’re out injured. Quelle deception, as the French say.
Still it never stops the excitement
of this time of year. We play the French tomorrow in Paris. We haven’t beaten
them over there since 1999. I was in Paris that day. I lived there at the time.
I had two tickets for the game and I didn’t go for reasons that I will explain.
I suspect my friend Ewan whom I was going with has never forgiven me as we tore
the French apart that day. We actually watched it in a Scottish pub I
frequented at the time in the centre of Paris. ‘The Auld Alliance’. It may
still be there. I don’t go there now if I find myself in Paris, primarily
because I like to pretend to be French and also prefer to avoid being asked
what football team I support. You can take a Scot out of Scotland…
There were about eight of us Scottish Francophiles that day – April 1999,
a warm spring day - friends from university who had gathered and one honorary
Scots Frenchman, Erwan. Seemed wrong for Ewan - not Erwan, stay with me - and I
to go and leave them there so I sold the tickets and bought us all some
exorbitantly priced beers. We had a ball. Five tries. Champagne rugby. Hasn’t
been much Champagne for us in Paris since. Tomorrow we’ll see, the French are a
bit of a car crash these days, a very large, heavy beast of a car with high
specification but driven by a blind person. We’re more like rabbits in
headlights but with the prancing skills of a deer. We’ll see. Either way, I
can’t wait.
