Even by the usual erratic standards of these rainswept islands, the weather so far this spring has been damp and dismal – rain, rain and more bleedin’ rain, with angry storms blowing into the meteorological mix. And it’s been unusually cold too – the central heating is still firing on all cylinders. Climate change? Don’t ask me. The owner of our local corner shop hates this weather; it’s bad for business, he says. Country life hereabouts is dominated by the grey herd and they don’t go out to graze when it’s wet, apparently.

But one advantage of all this water is that the garden has burst into action, virtually overnight. As long as Jack Frost doesn’t come a-calling we should be in for quite a show this summer, with the pansies fully perked. Here’s hoping.

Unlike some of our fellow wrinklies, we go out come rain or shine. Afternoons spent nodding off in a riser recliner while watching Loose Women on the box is not my idea of a riveting retirement. Give it a year or two, though, and that might change. And since our favourite Norwich eatery has reopened – new and improved – after being closed for a while, we’ve popped into town a couple of times for a boozy set lunch. The Last Wine Bar and Restaurant has an extensive and eclectic wine list, and we’re always up for something a bit more than the everyday, tipple-wise. On our first visit, the prix fixe was accompanied by a cheeky little dry white from the Lebanon, and our second lunch was washed down with a full-bodied red all the way from Georgia – the country on the Black Sea, not the US state. Georgians have been cultivating grapes on the slopes of the South Caucasus Mountains for eight millennia or more, so they know a thing or two about the Devil’s brew. I’m not so sure about Georgian glass-blowing skills, though. The bottle was so fat and heavy it took two hands just to pour the plonk. Still, it didn’t stop us indulging.

Გაუმარჯოს – gaumarjos! (That's 'cheers' in Georgian, I hope.)