My attitude to the world is changing.
On Sunday night at the end of a day filled with sun, we walked through our neighbourhood on our way to spend a night in a dark room listening to Swedish pop rockers.
We set off through the woods at the back of our house and were immediately arrested by the sight of great swathes of bluebells that must have only arrived in the past few days. Delighted by what I saw, I scampered about like a fox terrier (in ballet pumps).
The woods are pretty small (brilliantly saved a hundred years ago by Henrietta Barnett) so we soon exited and joined one of the roads up to the main square only to be stopped in our tracks by some unusual squawks coming from one of the many tall trees that populate the area.
Looking up, I saw the noise was coming from one, two, three parakeets flying in and out of the branches in little loops around one another. Whilst I'd heard that parakeets had gone native in some of the parks of London, I'd never seen them in the flesh and was thrilled so stood watching them for a few minutes.
Reluctantly leaving my little green friends behind, we eventually left the square turning off into a short road, Heathgate, still chattering about how brilliant nature is, to find that this squat avenue was now lined with trees woozy with fat pink blossom.
The only way that I could be pulled away by this stage was to allow me to take a rubbish picture with my phone so I could sit and look at it on the tube (so bad there's no point in sharing, the picture to the right is courtesy of a generous Flickr contributor).
So despite initial fears, my first year of suburban life has not changed me so much so that I've thrown myself into local community issues (although the great squirrel cull debate in the residents' newsletter had us gripped) nor have I yet worried about keeping up with the Joneses(although have worried a little about what Mr Jones may have spotted as we still don't have curtains). But possibly for the first time ever am aware and excited by what the seasons are bringing us.
That said, I did once got tearry on hearing a blackbird on Brewer Street (not quite a nightingale in Berkeley Square, I grant you), so there must have been a latent tendency all along. Before you know it I'll have ditched Private Eye and be subscribing to Suttons.