It only seems like a matter of weeks ago that we were touching down in East Midlands Airport after a short break in the sun to find that there was a pile of snow blocking our car and the A14 was empty because the driving conditions were so hazardous.
Hang on. That was just a matter of weeks ago.
Now I know people tend to fall in to one of two camps when it comes to talking about these extreme seasons we seem to have now, but I’m sure it was never like this 20, even 10 years ago.
There was a definite division between the spring, with its mild afternoons and occasional showers, the summer with its dry heat, the autumn with those crisp evenings and bright colours, and the winter with tons of snow.
The way this year has gone so far, we’ve jumped straight from the most extreme Arctic conditions imaginable to heat that would make an Australian pant and puff.
I’m determined not to moan about it though.
I was so sick of the cold weather that by the time the snow came in April I couldn’t even remember what being warm felt like.
Now I’m sat in a house without any fans (they sold out) with all the doors and windows open, sweating because the air is thick and relentless – and I’m forcing myself to love it.
At worst I’m just a little uncomfortable while I’m on the sofa wading through Inspector Morse DVDs. Not exactly a hardship is it? I’ll dwell on that while I pour another Pimm’s…