The yellow spray of Mimosa as I drive to work in the warmth of one of January's Mondays, fills me with concern for the lack of snow in the Alps and the little action my snowboard is experiencing. When the winters are cold and the snow is deep you can almost feel the excitement waft down to you in an over-flow of exhausted fun which beckons you up with charmingly chill arms.
This year there is no welcoming pierce of white invitation from the mountains this side of France. To find good snow we must travel north where apparently they are drowning in the stuff. There is no doubt about it; we’re deeply jealous. We could take a weekend and travel a little further afield to satisfy our snowboarding cravings but then we’d have to take more time and spend more money and that’s not part of this winters plan. The purse strings are puckered and tight.
My days on Mariquita are rattling on at a gentle pace of typical boat maintenance. I have painted deck heads and beams and varnished floors and cooked some lunches. It is an unfortunate disposition when one has a blood-curdling reaction to sandpaper and also works on an old wooden boat – but I do and always have. I shudder even at the thought of sandpaper and anything of a similar texture such as bricks, unglazed terracotta or blackboards. The thought has me bucking in uncomfortable shivers. Consequently a good few of my jobs on the boat verge on the torturous and take a great deal of mental persuasion to get the job done. It’s not all roses.
However it will all be about the blossoming Mimosa; the warm, scentful and tiny yellow buds that emerge in their thousands around the Cote D’Azure at the first inclination of a new season. Whether you’d prefer the cold and snow or not, there is nothing we can do about it. Mother Nature follows her nose and here she is bidding for Spring.
