Rain was the next treat. Not drizzle or spiting or a shower, but stair-rods of the kind that’ll soak you in a moment. OK, the Gore Tex coat has been keeping me dry for eight years and I have waterproof trousers, but I’m perpetually amazed by how the water finds its way inside my shoes every time. Maybe it’s the surface water splashing up, or rivulets running down my legs. I’m thinking of cycling in wellies.

And the wind – ah, the wind! What could be pleasanter than struggling uphill against an implacable force, wrestling with the handlebars to avoid being thrown sideways under a truck, and pedalling like a mad man just to move down a steep slope. Yes – the wind is the worst. I still remember the day at university when my second-hand shopper with one pedal just couldn’t propel me an inch further into the terrifying headwind – so I just flung it on to the pavement with an impressive torrent of expletives.

But still we do it: wrapping up, gritting our teeth and preparing for the worst. It’s worth it all, I suppose, because we know there’s going to be a period in the summer – perhaps three weeks; perhaps three days – when we wake to a clear blue sky, no wind and a coolness like a caress. We’ll freewheel to work past lines of standing traffic and listen to the birds and wonder whether that Californian climate has finally, permanently, arrived.

.matt stanley