When you've spent the last five years in a fog I expect suddenly bursting back into clarity again is going to be an illuminating experience in any circumstances. To have done it in the Spring is to add all those tropes of rebirth, and leaving the Underworld that happen to be circulating around from about March. Anyone who is not totally insensate at this time of year is genetically programmed to rise to the call of Nature triumphant. But to do it in this lockdown has proved exciting, and thrilling, and illuminating by turns - and sometimes all at the same time so I really do, like a girl in a Romcom, gasp audibly and stop in my tracks; quite often. I have twice, unconsciously, but ever so theatrically, raised a hand to my bosom while doing so. (Apart from the conviction that I was certifiable insane, the Fog really seemed to draw a sort of dark oily fuzz over the perceptions. Imagine then, what it's been like to round a bend and come face-to-face with a bawdy, lusty