And, no, it's not the whole Valentine's Day debacle. I'm quite looking forward to that, actually. I rather like the overload of kitsch cheesiness as the whole country takes leave of its senses for a day. And we're planning on having foie gras, salad with seared scallops, and ginger cheesecake for dinner (probably with a bit of fizz). That should be suitably cheering.
So that's not the issue. It's the whole dark, dank, dismal month that's the problem. Every time I go out of the house it's raining, or dripping, or foggy. M and I took a walk down to the parade of shops in the middle of Low Fell today. Aside from pretending to be Penny and Bolt, we spent our time looking in everyone's gardens for signs of spring. There were precious few - a couple of patches of snowdrops, and several frozen-looking primroses were our lot. Everything was damp, soggy and slippy underfoot - and we were hailed on on the way there and back.
Roll on the spring proper. I want to go to the park and not have to retreat after an hour because we can't feel our fingers, no matter how much 'explorer' mix (nuts and chocolate) we eat to give us energy. I want to see all the bulbs in the pots in our back yard poke their heads through and start shooting up towards the light. I want to see a bit of blue sky.
Until then, I'll have to make do with baking cakes, booking summer holidays and eating curry.