‘Spring’: such a fantastic little word. How delightfully easily it rolls off the tongue. Bliss! On its own terms as a noun, it is a cosy little innocuous example of the English language`s finer moments. As a season, it is even better, incorporating many of the fixations we sapiens find appealing.
But if the common man were to name his favourite season, he would more than likely refer to the captivating astonishment of the wintery time of year, or he would make an objective appraisal of the summer months – he shouldn’t. Winter may have the added bonus in containing the twelve days of Christmas, but once Santa`s presents have been opened and discarded, one is faced with the dreary austerity of cold weather and dark nights. Summer may sound impressive with the promise of longer evenings and warm weather, but anyone living on the British Isles will know that this utopic description is a heap of mitigated crap. No, the common man has been duped by common conceptions of the solstice seasons. The season to end all seasons has to be spring.
Spring is a time of poetry and plenty, a time for picking flowers and rolling under bushes with a fair maiden. It is a time for admiring both the splendour of the blooming lilies, and the voracious appetites of grazing sheep. A magnitude of possibilities awaits the hopeful Irish inhabitant, who has these three months to enjoy between the soggy, sour winter and the over-long, disappointing, uneventful summer.
- It is a time of re-appraisal. In the paralyzing chill of mid-winter, or disabled by the powerful cosiness of central heating, one tends to let personal development stagnate a little – spring is a time to take a look at where you are, and where you’d like to be. You may realise that you’ve been putting some dreams or aspirations on the long finger: consider it a spring clean for one`s life (very saccharine, I know!).
- It features that one month that is shorter than every other month in the year – what a hoot! While other months trudge along, obstinately outstaying their welcome, February whooshes past in a fluttery kind of manner. Like a fluttery bird. Or another type of fluttery thing. You know, something with wings.
- As you should now know, reader, February is host to Valentine`s Day. It is a great day for the solitary cynic, sniggering at those gormless couples who blow their hard-earned bucks on man-sized stuffed animals and tooth-decaying candy wrapped in gaudy pinks and lilacs. The happy couple raise their eyebrows and snort in derision at the lonely loser, who revels in his superior detachment from the ‘Hallmark Holiday’ – somebody needs a girlfriend, eh? It’s a great laugh for everyone involved. St. Valentine was a comedian – did you know?
- March 17th is the day to celebrate the second greatest Welsh man of all time (after Timothy Dalton, of course!). Much time is spent looking at parades, while the rest is spent in the pub. A gregarious event for every Irish man, woman and child (plus Irish horses, dogs, cats, iguanas, etc.).
- The Six Nations are on! Eyes will be placed very squarely on the television box set while Ronan O’Gara and co. fight against five very worthy adversaries. It is a glorious occasion, fuelled with adventurism, athleticism, hedonism and homoeroticism. What`s not to like?
- Easter will be in March this year. Those whose choca-holism was not sated over Christmas will find it hard to kick the habit when the Easter Bunny appears, like a back-street dealer, to push his sugary wares on the weaker-willed among us. Fact: the Easter Bunny is better than Santa Claus, because it is a bunny.
- April is the time when the best weather of the year appears. It arrives at a time when the individual is saddened by the residual end of spring before they are enlightened with the everlasting pleasure of sunshine, without succumbing to the soul destroying wretchedness of the summer rain! A lovely, wee surprise.
- Spring is a time of re-growth for certain flowers. What kinds they are, I wouldn’t know. Go ask a botanist if you’re into that kind of thing.
- April is a great time of year to experience powerful poetic inspiration. It certainly worked for Wordsworth and Blake. I implore you to let out that inner artist. Go forth and create a work that generations of school children will curse you for and multitudes of critics will revere you for. All that is necessary to compose a masterpiece is the enriching manure of Mother Nature’s influence, and the requisite items of stationary.
- Spring time is great to allow the rootier part of you to take charge. There are numerous adverts that encourage you to throw yourself onto the ground and plod in animal excrement. So what if your clothes get soiled? Persil fixes that. It has done so for generations. Persil say so in their ads. Advertisers would never tell a lie. Would they? Look, just stop being so boring, and do something non-conformist, like the ad told you to!
There it is. Spring: the illegitimate child of Summer’s humidity and Winter’s chill. But typical of the resilient spirit of great bastards throughout history (see Mae’s article), spring rises as the greatest season of all!