Spring

It is spring now. It's so much easier to write in the spring. For a start you don't have to struggle with the early morning frost at your writing desk. That's on top of all the other disincentives. Secondly there is more to see outside the window - more to write about. Thirdly, spring is symbolic of the creative process. Little birdies are laying little eggies. Crocuses are peeking their heads tentatively through the grass, daring to dot a little colour across the barren cityscape.

In the warmer months we eat less and wear fewer clothes. Less time dressing and undressing means more time for running and jumping and more time for writing. Everyone wears white tee shirts and turns to sport. I plan to turn to windsurfing, and writing, of course. And, as the days grow longer and the night recedes we can sit in the warmth of the evening, maybe as late as 10p.m, sipping long cool drinks at a bar overlooking the river with a notebook on our knee.

You can trust people in summer; their clothes have less room in which to conceal weapons. The tube trains run on time. In summer you can drink more alcohol without adverse effects. In winter, drinking is a self-protective measure and the safest bet is to drink yourself into the warmth of a stupor and then to bed. In summer, people drink for refreshment and taste, and are thus more prepared to dilute the alcohol, for example with lemonade or tonic. These activities remind them of their childhood, and that is finally what summer is all about. Something to write about.