Simon Barnes picking out some choicer words than why is this country taking so fucking long to heat up.

We cherish the victory of the underdog more deeply than that of the inevitable champion. We identify with the struggle, with the difficulties, with the demented charge up the down escalator that somehow leads to glory. 

This has been the underdog spring and even now, its triumph seems desperately fraught. This has been no victory stroll, no cakewalk. Every drop of warmth, every scrap of blossom, every note of birdsong has been a problem this year. 

We've been shoving on a closed door for weeks. It has opened a crack and we can get a foot in - and now at last there is a feeling that any second now, it's going to give. The door will open with a crash, we will go staggering through, off-balance and elated, into a world of golden warmth, sun, butterflies, swallows and endless torrents of song.

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