This week Liz Dawes is delighted that Spring is finally here, although she remains confused about exactly what she should be wearing…

Spring has Sprung!  The days are longer, the evenings lighter, and there’s an extra bounce in my step.  I love this time of year with its irresistible promise of light and sunshine and new beginnings, and on this, the very first morning of Spring, a bright yellow sun shines down on Casa Dawes.  I step jauntily out and on to the street.  Delightful!  Even more so as the weather merits not just the very lightest of jackets, but sunglasses too.  Surely the good times are here at last…

Less than an hour later and I’m shivering through a light grey drizzle, bemoaning my lack of a proper warm coat, sunnies stuffed grumpily in the handbag.  This is the trouble with March: I have absolutely no idea how to dress for it.  I roast on the train if I have a hat and scarf, but freeze on my travels home again unless dressed in full ski gear.  I’m blinded by promising flashes of brilliant sunshine, but rue the day I step out without an umbrella.

I’m given to understand that layering is the answer.  I’ve been avidly absorbing the wise advice of fashionistas from across the internet, and this is their proposed solution.  The cunning use of elegant layers of thin clothing, I am told, means you can remove a slender cashmere outer layer and pop it neatly into your bag where is will fold to almost nothing.  Equally you can add the softest of wraps or ponchos without bulking up like a Michelin man, should a chilly breeze take you by surprise.

I’ve tried this approach with what I can only describe as mixed results.  My mate Kate reckons the answer to almost every clothing issue in the chillier months is a thermal vest, and having taken her advice this winter, I think she’s on to something.  So layer one I’ve got down, no trouble.  It’s what happens after that I can’t quite get a handle on.  My t-shirts seem to have different necklines from my jumpers.  Collars poke out awkwardly.  I have too many sleeves of differing lengths and my attempts at an elegantly upturned cuff make me look as if I might, at any moment, leap upon the washing up.

No matter how hard I try, I can’t seem to make layering look like anything other than a lumpy mess of fabric, thrown at my personage in the style of Worzel Gummidge.  Sexy it ain’t.  This leaves two choices – freezing my butt off due to optimistic undressing, or spending the day peeling away layers at the first hint of warmth.

And with that I need to go out.  Enjoy your Spring, dear reader, and don’t forget your gloves.  And sunglasses.  And scarf.  And sunscreen…