We all know that TS Eliot had it wrong and that February is, in fact, the cruellest month. There's nothing to be said for it, no light, no warmth, no comfort - the only thing to do is huddle up and wait for spring.
So this morning I went through all of my seed packets writing down the earliest possible dates I could plant them and pulled out, cackling, all that allowed the possibility of February.
39 cells of my propagator are now full of potential and the possibility of redemption. And I think my fingers should recover movement within the next few hours.