Roger Moroney.
It was about 22C last Thursday, and Friday and Saturday were rather smitten by the autumn warmth as well.
It is always rather buoying to the soul to walk from a store or supermarket which has its appropriate ventilation systems running and into the air outside ... and feeling the embrace of warmth.
Those absurdly hot days of February and early March were magnificent in the quest to achieve this.
From the air conditioning within you step through the sliding doors and into a wall of heat.
Marvellous.
And so it was last Thursday as I left a large store which, due to the usual late April conditions, had minimal, or maybe no, conditioning running.
Which was fine by me because I yet again was able to sense the warmth of the air, despite the fact the first day of w-w-w-winter is only about 35 or so days away. I'm not exactly sure because I'm not counting.
For a brief couple of seconds last Thursday, as I soaked up the sunshine and light and pleasant airs, I pretended it was a "slightly cooler" February afternoon.
For I am, as I suspect I have revealed before, a creature of denial. The denial of inclement weather I think goes back to my young years and the couple of times I took mid-winter breaks and regardless of the weather ventured off on my motorcycle.
One mid-July journey was a trip down to Christchurch to see a brother who was skiving off down there.
There was scattered snow along the Kaikoura coast and I gave up trying to chase down the guy on the bike in front as it was clearly larger and faster and I was dealing with a rear wheel constantly on the slippery slide.
But the sun was shining through the 4C air and so I ignored the frost-bitten hands and neck and just pretended it was a "slightly cooler" February afternoon.
Denial.
And yes whilst in Christchurch I stumbled about in jeans and a T-shirt ... albeit three of them as despite the blue skies you could almost hear the disintegrating glaciers over the other side of the island.
Denial.
And so as the mornings begin to slightly darken, despite the temporary safety net called the end of daylight saving which made them a little lighter for a time, and while the dew upon the grass grows deeper and cooler, I shall simply iron a few more sleeveless shirts and T-shirts, and keep the old baggy shorts handy just in case the August sun emerges whilst digging the wreckage I call my vegetable patch.
Although crikey, August is years away ... this Indian summer is an eternal brute for sure ... even the eventual and inevitable sound of a few drops of rain and overnight lows of 9C will not sway me from that belief.
For I have looked at the long-range forecast (a habit I succumb and submit to regularly) and it appears the high teens and low 20s are here through until May, which is months away anyway.
Then the shortest day arrives and soon it's July and then a fortnight later the first buds of freesias begin to swell, and there is still some light in the western sky when I stand at the kitchen sink and peer in that direction at one minute past six ... which at that stage of the season I do daily.
Frost?
Not in this town.
Wear gloves to work?
Over my dead fingertips.
Look forward to the first day of September?
Oh you bet I will - which is the easy part of this whole denial of winter because it's only a fortnight away.
Ahh the fruit is already thick on the ground in the form of feijoas which everyone has in glut-like quantities.
Why can't they make bio-fuel out of it?
And I watch the birdies clustering in the trees at 4.30pm and I know why.
So they won't get seared by that early spring sunshine we're being delivered day after wonderful day.
Denial ... it's better than any heat pump.
- Roger Moroney is an award-winning journalist for Hawke's Bay Today and observer of the slightly off-centre.