My work schedule is so peculiar these days that I have to squash my weekend into a Thursday. I do this quite cheerfully: the streets are quiet, the cafes are empty and I can just wander around while everyone else is hard at work. The joke's on me of course when I'm working all day on Saturday and Sunday.
Yesterday Benjamin and I went on a walk, officially to buy some salt, but ended up wandering the grounds of the church turned concert venue, St George's, and finding, to our surprise, the early shoots of spring.
There are a few churches in Bristol which have been taken over by enterprises more profitable than they – lately I've spotted a church now in a hut adjacent to its former premises (now a gymnastics studio), and another turned into a boxing centre. Sport is the new religion, it would seem.
St George's is the nicest of them all - I saw Owen Pallett play here last year, which was quite a magical experience. Inside, the ceilings are high and the acoustics are something special.
So, while spring springs out of miserable February, I'll be working hard on a very large book. When I'm finished, perhaps it will be springtime proper, and time for something different.