As predicted, the weather here has become remarkably warm and jolly unseasonable. One would, at this time of the year, expect one’s breath to be made visible by a late-spring chill. However, as this paragraph begins to takes shape, my eyes find themselves met with a sky of unbridled blue. We appear to have skipped spring entirely and charged head-first into summer – perhaps June will become the new winter. We shall yet join the Australians in having my namesake, jolly ol’ St. Nick, presented with a surf board and speedos, rather than coat and gloves.