4 seasons

With the weather 'experts' having declared the warmest winter since someone decided that daily measurements of the weather might turn out to be useful, it was declared that we ought to have a pleasant spring at our doorsteps in the not too distant future. After all, global warming can't be all that bad, can it? Naturally (pun intended), Mother Nature had other plans in mind and Carlisle's been beset by rather weird weather for the duration that I've been awake today.

As I walked to work today, huddled in attire that was definitely inadequate for single-digit temperatures, I noticed the ground being wet with snow that was melting quickly. This wasn't even proper snow - it was the kind of snow that would disappear at the slightest provocation, the type of snow that would make a pokok semalu appear as bold as a schizophrenic who is tripping on acid.

At some point during my early morning joyless (and mind-numbing) adventure of inserting venflons into the veins of those unfortunate enough to be hospitalised, the sky thundered and you would not have been mistaken if you were think that day had turned into night. Rendering tests for patient orientation obsolete.

A couple of hours and a cup of coffee later, I was staring whimsically at the golden rays of sunlight that was bathing through the windows as I rythmically felt the bones of the ribcage of this person give way with each chest compression that I was administrating to this patient who decided that today's a good day to die.

When I got bleeped to see a couple of sickies (including one of the yellowest folks I've ever met), it was back to gale-force winds with hailstones. By the time I had finished sorting them out (or at least attempted to do so), the land outside was covered with one of those postcard images of a smooth layer of snow. Winter wonderland has arrived, albeit a few months late.

But as you may have guessed, the peaceful nature of the world outside these walls deteriorated once again; back to howling winds that would give any Nazghul a run for its money. The snow soon dissipated, to be replaced by the usual North England rain that just paints the sky grey and that seems to suck the very essence of joy out of a man's soul. Think Edvard Munch's Scream, but replace the red skyline with the grey coat of a shaggy wolf .

Now it's back to a clear, starry nightsky with frost being built up as I stare outside the windows. One can only hope that it'll remain this way until I get back. If not, I'll be struggling with the cold - hair standing on end, and everything else shrinking away. I've just had a little debate with a staff nurse who believes that global warming is just a massive conspiracy to increase the tax burden on the working class people, but that debate has been abandoned since I could tell that I was going nowhere fast.

Don't particularly care what sort of weather besets Cumbria tomorrow, as I'm off. A little bit of cold would be perfect for snuggling under the duvet and chatting with Sweetie.