A photo taken on our dog walk, the morning of the 12th April. The morning that we heard the first cuckoo of spring.
I’d never given cuckoos a second thought, until two days ago and there it was, clear as a bell and beautiful as a song (not Bieber or such like, more Beethoven). Listen! Partner said. I thought he was just bored with my conversation – the (almost) 7 year itch and all that. That’s a cuckoo! And so it was. We thought it was significant – something about the official start of Spring. I got home and googled it.
Apparently, on hearing the first cuckoo in spring it is traditional to pen a letter to The Times, so I’m penning a blog to you instead. Perhaps I should have written a letter to the Times as well – it’s on my bucket list to get one published (saddo). According to peeps in the know, hearing the first cuckoo of spring has long been cause for celebration, although ironically the call states the descending minor third, musically always seen as fairly ‘sad’.
I have to say, that sad is how I felt when I got home and decided that it was time to expose my garden, dogs and nosey neighbours, to my legs. Why, ‘sad’, I’m hearing you cry…Sad that the sun is shining? Or sad that the body is still in ‘winter body’ state and has not yet made the transition to ‘summer body’? (This is not being helped by daughters, who keep breaking the rules and baking treats – haven’t they heard the cuckoo sing: cuck-oo, cuck-oo, no cakes, for you?) No! None of the above. Sad, because when I rolled my trousers up there was a bloody forest where my lower limbs should be! Sad, because I now have to embrace the cuckoo – you can’t stick your head in the sand and ignore the signs – I heard it with my own ears: cuck-oo, cuck-oo, more work, for you!
Yes, my friends, listen up! The cuckoo has spoken. Razors at the ready, slap on the fake tan, find the exercise bike from under the clothes: Summer is officially on it’s way!