The first cuckoo of spring - and it's not Gordon Brown

The world rushes on around me. We have Indiana Brown on his Last Crusade dealing with the fallout from his very silly 'bigoted woman' remark (only the penitent man will pass Gordon, and you've still got the leap of faith to go), and politicians of all sides queuing up to have a pop at the weary leader. Meanwhile, in Greece, the economy is in tatters and Germany holds the purse strings.

But as I walk my dogs this morning, a sound fills me with such joy I know that, whatever happens, all is well with the world. The unmistakable voice of the cuckoo. Her call has not been heard here for years. It makes me smile.

The cuckoo flowers are washing the fields with drifts of pink, the bluebells are coming out on the banks and in the woods. And the swallows and house martins dart in and out of the square, chattering as they go. A pair of Brent geese flap by, pointing out places of interest along the way.

All we are waiting for is the ceremonial unveiling of the bronze nymph who welcomes people to our village. Her dad, who drives a vintage tractor with silk sunflowers stuffed in the grille, says it is still too cold for her at night. So when the poncho comes off, we will know summer is just around the corner.

That's about it

Love Maddie x