THE sun has got his hat on, and he’s coming out to play. Oh, how lovely the weather’s been over the last couple of weeks.

My summer dresses, skirts and sun tops are out and I can’t say that I’m sad to put away my boots and start wearing my sandals again.

But before all that, I flung open our windows to let the fresh air come in, then I decided that I should strim the grass, cut it and begin cutting all the dead leaves and flowers from my plants in the garden.

Firstly I began to rummage around in search of my gardening clothes. Now then these aren’t some sort of special clothing designed just for gardening – oh no – they are just old clothes that I wear to garden in.

I have resisted going out chopping away and repotting plants until the end of May.

I stood outside, looking around my little kingdom breathing in fresh air. I actually had the feeling that I wanted to burst into exercise but I soon put a stop to thoughts of madness and burst into song instead, much to the disapproval of Pete, my hubby, who shook his head as if a wasp had flown inside it.

Some people just have no taste. I did all the actions as I sang rather loudly: ‘The sun has got his hat on.’

I even added some of my own words just to jazz it up a bit “hip, hop, hip, today.”

I even did a small Mexican wave – but on my own.

“The sun has got his hat on and he’s coming out to play.”

Then I make big circles with my arms as I run around in smaller circles, like some old lunatic who’s out on day release.

I carry on singing the same words as I drag out an old bucket, trowel and secateurs from the shed.

Now I’m ready. I pace up and down the garden humming to myself as if I’m doing some health check on the plants before I begin.

Trowel in one hand and secateurs in the other I was just about to delve in as if I was Edward Scissorhands when from inside, I heard Pete shouting to ask if I wanted a coffee.

Well obviously, a woman can’t work without a drink. I need to just relax and plan my moves, I mean I don’t want to burn myself out…

I told Pete of my plans in such detail anyone would think I was going to perform surgery.

Then once refreshed, I picked up my tools and marched up the garden, I was clearly a woman on a mission.

Dead leaves didn’t stand a chance. Weeds were ruthlessly dug up, I was on a roll now, when out of nowhere another song popped into my head as I moved around the rockery. It was Tina Turner’s Proud Mary.

Rolling my arms in-between cutting and digging. “Rolling, rolling, rolling on the river.” I sang at the top of my voice, then I stamped my feet just like Tina, well, maybe not exactly like Tina but I’m sure you get the idea.

I left no stone unturned, literally. I even fought the dreaded nettles although at one point I did think that they would win with their deadly sting, but nothing could stand in my way now.

At the end of the rockery, I flung my arms up into the air with shouts of “I win! I win!” before flopping down into a garden chair.

Yes the sun has got his hat on, the rockery has been de-weeded and my shrubbery has been trimmed and now looks nice and neat and ready for the summer. Hip, hip, hip, hooray!