I am usually in Spain this time of year, south of Valencia in a town among the oranges, and though the sea is still too cold to swim there is none of the badly designed weather we have here in the UK. A few weeks to work alone, become warm in my bones, enjoy being solitary. I am missing it.

But if I was there, I’d miss days like today when the sun finally gets its northern act together.

Days that remind me of the first time I stepped out of an aircraft in a hot country and felt the air wrap itself round the back of my thighs, lift me.

We’re not quite there yet in Sheffield, but with the blade’s glare and blue sky, time to sit and watch the water fall, people in their skin, I can imagine summer and forget that when it eventually arrives, it will be English.