Mad dogs and Englishmen are, as the late Noel Coward so harmoniously pointed out, the only fools to go out in the midday sun.

He was so right.

The first hint that the golden orb may be about to cast its glimmering rays upon us mortals, brings us scurrying out in droves to feel the heat, as it were.

Which is precisely what Mrs D and me did recently when the sun shone and deceived us all into thinking spring had sprung.

Foolishly (and this always intrigues me that they are so easily misled) other creatures, who should really know best, also fall victim to the thoroughly untrustworthy and unpredictable British weather.

Over a couple of days on a recent balmy weekend, the bees were buzzing and the birds were twittering (from 4am – I know, they woke me up) and all manner of creepy crawlies uncoiled themselves and slithered off to do a few hours of grubbing around in the rapidly warming earth.

All this was happening while, still fresh in our memory, were the blizzards which had rooted Bristol's transport system to the spot just a few weeks earlier.

How times change, I mused, as Mrs D, looking ravishing in green wellies and over-sized gardening gloves, dragged me from the delights of TV's Saturday Kitchen out into the glare of our little plot.

"I think we should spend the day in the garden," she said, in a sergeant major sort of way.

As a precursor to this I found myself being railroaded to our local B&Q where, under instruction, I bought a large tub of wood stain and preserver, and an appropriate brush. My wife had decided our garden shed was in need of some serious attention.

"I only painted it a little while back," I protested. In vain, of course, because I knew it was a long time since the shed timbers had experience a close encounter with a paint brush.

It had been a rather curious blue-green colour, which, as I recall, didn't quite check out with the shade shown on the tin.

Anyway, most of it had weathered off, and, although I would not tell her as such, I secretly agreed the old place needed a make-over.

I chose green again, "forest green" after the Blue Square Premier team of the same name, and was slightly alarmed at its hue on opening.

Undeterred, I slapped it on and discovered this was, indeed, a very different shade of green, a bit like the colour of camouflage paint.

But initial appearances can be deceptive and, on drying in the heat of the blazing midday sun, it dried to a very pleasing shade, except... it needed two coats.

I began to disrobe.

Off came, at intervals, the thermal fleece, the sweater, the T-shirt, the trousers, the pants (no, I jest!) but, boy, was it hot out there.

Along the way, as usual, I made the same sort of mess I do at the dinner table, managing to stain various garments with this wondrous "forest green". The trousers and the fleece, despite two washes, won't make the cut again, I fear.

Unable to stop, once I'd started, I decided to clear out the shed, too.

Two car trips to the civic amenity site later, I was feeling really smug.

The shed was gleaming inside and out and, for the first time in years, I had visions of installing an old chair inside where I could sneak off and have a cat-nap.

Dreams, though, are easily shattered.

As I returned from my second outing to the rubbish dump I stepped inside the shed only to trip over an all-singing, all-dancing, talking wheelbarrow and various accoutrements belonging to Grandson Number 2, plus, a carelessly abandoned rake, three large sacks of seed potatoes, a giant bag of eco-friendly potting compost and the top half of a cold frame.

Admitting defeat, I slunk off to the relative calm of our living room leaving my wife alone with her seed dibber.

Putting my feet up, while simultaneously flicking the telly on to watch a mouldy oldie movie, I realised one of those little mites awakened prematurely by the sunshine had sunk its teeth into my ankle.

Don't you just love being green?