It snowed last night.  I woke up and everything outside was covered in a couple of inches of snow.  If it was December or January I would be thrilled; as it is April and Spring, I am not. This time it is true; April is the cruelest month, as T.S. Eliot wrote in the Wasteland.

But as fast as the snow came, it was gone by the afternoon, proving once again that in England you are more likely than not to get four seasons in one day.