SNOW IN APRIL

Call me an old-fashioned so-and-so, but I don't really think it ought to be snowing in April, especially after such a glorious Easter weekend.

Nevertheless, the frozen grey clouds have shifted overhead, and thick white snow is currently flurrying across the green grass and the daffodils.

"Put it this way," said Andy, my colleague, "I was in shorts and t-shirt, drinking wine in the garden a couple of days ago. Next thing I know I'm indoors with a pot of coffee and a blanket!"

Good old Blighty. And did those feet, in ancient times, walk upon England's mountains green? Well not in open-toed sandals, I'd wager. I mean Jesus would have at least needed a thick pair of socks.

I sometimes wonder how I'd get on living somewhere with less interesting weather. What do people in California (for example) talk about? I mean, when they meet up and it's awkward (and it's always a little bit awkward), and saying, "lovely weather again," still sounds ridiculous for the three hundredth golden day in a row, what is there left to say?

We Brits rely on that handy, coded, small talk. It punctures the awkwardness - it sets us at ease; we know everything will be alright when we've bonded on how awful/wonderful/splendid/unpredictable the weather is.

And, my Californian friends, for us over here, the weather forecast is both square and central indeed to most of our plans - like a sort of sacrosanct bit of daily badinage. In fact, it's so holy that when we were kids, we were required to be completely silent while it was on the telly; a ritual that has been passed down unspoken through the generations. And with good reason - Will we need a coat? Should I take my sunglasses? Where are my waterproof ski trousers? Am I going to need sun cream?

It seems like the miraculous answer to all those questions is probably 'yes' today. Snow in April indeed. Tsk. Oh, apart from the one about the ski trousers, to which the answer is of course, 'still stuffed inside my rucksack from the other day when it turned out to be surprisingly hot'.

If the 'Countenance Divine' did 'shine forth upon our clouded hills', I hope He turned to Joseph of Arimathea to remark on how atypical it all was for the time of year.