Cambridge is waking up. As I drift about my city, its gardens are filled with massy magnolias, laden in blossoms of cream and raspberry. Cherries shake their pink petals over the paths, blackthorns hide their dangers behind clouds of white. In our front garden, the greengages have hearts of white blooms and soft green leaf buds. The borders are filled from side to side with the green and blue of grape hyacinth. To the back, the snowy mespil enjoys its short burst of fragile lacy flowers. The last of the winter jasmine winds yellow through the hedge. On the big roundabout just down the road, tulips stand to attention, clad in glossy dark purple. The cats chase petals across the lawn and yawn happily in the big pool of sunlight that falls across the floor. It may be spring.