Primroses have always been thought of as a spring flower, but now they can sometimes be seen in November. It is the same story with frogspawn.
The annual spawning took place in late February this year, but was only delayed until then by a short, sharp cold snap. Normally, or rather traditionally, this would take place in March.

Last Friday it was the turn of the toads. They start to feel frisky a little later than the frogs and the "show" is much less dramatic, the numbers congregating being much smaller. The female common toad is not exactly a "looker" having short legs and dry wart-covered skin, but then again neither is her suitor. While she is an impressive 4in. long, he is similarly upholstered and hardly an oil-painting himself, and is only 2.5in. long. When I saw a couple in the garden pond the other day, however, they seemed more than happy with their lot.

In fact toads rarely visit ponds, only doing so to mate, which is strange given the fact they are good swimmers. They spend most of their time on dry(ish) land. By day they live in holes, either natural ones beneath tree roots or in the base of a hedge, or in ones they have scraped out themselves. They have a feeble hop and move with a clumsy walk.

I was once guilty of holding up traffic near Ulverston as I coaxed (what I believe was) a lumbering natterjack toad across the busy highway on to the sandy coastal strip.

As my wife sat in the car curled up with embarrassment, the waiting lorry drivers and motorists showed amazing patience as the little fellow unhurriedly made his way across the highway, eventually receiving a rapturous ovation from a car full of young lads, as if he (or she) was a returning hero.

Despite the toads delaying their courtship until April, however, Saturday morning was cold and wet and I bet they were having second thoughts – well perhaps not. But there was overnight frost, and as we drove through Haslingden (does it always rain there?) the car was battered by cold rain and sleet.

The snow or hailstones sticking on the high ground. By the time we got to Aintree, however, the skies had cleared and the sun was doing its best to warm us despite the cold northerly wind.

Arriving at the race course (10 out of 10 for the park-and-ride service) it was still cold, but I could not help noticing how far ahead the plants in people's gardens were.

Magnolia soulangeana was in full tulip-cupped flowering glory. An odd Japanese cherry tree was in bloom, and red shoots were appearing on some Pieris.

Despite being dressed reasonably sensibly, all of us felt cold. Two years in Newcastle have taught my eldest daughter to dress for comfort not show, and we all retreated indoors for a hot drink and a hog roast baguette.

We had had such a trouble-free journey, we had arrived at the racecourse early, and so we gritted our teeth into the wind and decided to "walk the course". Besides it looked sunny now though the forecast had been for snow – in April.

We visited the grave of three times Grand National winner Red Rum, and tributes included a little bunch of daffodils and a generous fistful of his favourite Polo mints, before walking down the famous course to Canal Turn and Beechers Brook.

The scale of the jumps really brings home the scale of the fences these magnificent athletes clear – and then it started to get warm.

Dodging the continuous parade of incoming helicopters, we returned to the main stands.

The ladies were out in all their finery and floral print dresses and 5in. heels. Clearly, they had not lived in Newcastle and learned to wrap up, but luckily the weather was defying the forecasters.

Anyway the races started and the rain held off and (collectively) we were very successful with our betting. This was going to be a good day.
In the fourth race, however, Mother Nature re-asserted herself and a bank of black cloud moved in, the temperature plummeted and we were hammered by icy stair-rods of sleet. Huddled under the brollies which had so encumbered us earlier we were grateful for our sensible clothes.
Meanwhile, you have never seen so many people, clad as if it was mid-summer, race for cover.

When the main race, the Grand National itself started, the squall had passed, the crowds of ladies with rain steaked mascara re-emerged to watch a fantastic race. While, Hedgehunter (an obvious gardener's choice) let me down, the girls cheered home the second and third places backed each way and gleefully trotted to collect their winnings.

A good end to a good day and we had come out better than even. I will return.

Back home, I popped down to the greenhouse to check out the seedlings and make notes in my log book. I was amazed to see the auto-vents partly open. We had seen sleet, snow, wind, rain, cloud, sunshine and showers and experienced cold winds and hot sunshine. Certainly a case of all four seasons in one day – but which season was it really? One look at the little group of toads in the pond left me in no doubt. Spring is here and in a blink it will be bedding plant time and the beginning of summer – but not just yet.