Spring?

Spring is by far the most disappointing season in New York. It's hard to tell if it's even a season at all.

Last weekend, I went rowing for the first time this year. The sun was blaring when I looked out the window before leaving the apartment and I shoved on a tee shirt and lycra shorts. With jeans and a fleece on top, I left the apartment at 7am and promptly found myself in conditions that can only be described as Arctic. By the time I got to the subway, my nose was dripping ceaselessly and the wind had burned the skin from the backs of my hands.

You see, one of the problems with being English in New York is that I can't help but see the sun and assume that it must be tee shirt weather. Long Aye-lander in Glasgow played a game recently where she spotted locals inappropriately dressed for the conditions. It's a national hazard. Even after three years here, even knowing that it can be sunny and minus 15C, I fall for bright sunlight every time and I'll rush for my flip flops.

The thing is, I know that one of these days - very soon, hopefully - I'll wake up and some magical switch will have turned and I'll leave the apartment to discover it's humid and 30C and will be that way for the next four months... It's just a question of hazarding my chances until then. It's either going to be hot or cold when I leave the apartment - but very unlikely to be the kind of moderate, temperate weather that I associate with Spring...