What has happened to April? One week we're shivering in snow flurries. The next we're fainting in the heat.

And there doesn't seem to have been a drop of rain for weeks.

I hate it when the weather takes a turn for the unusual.

April has never been one of my favourite months but you can usually bank on it being a bit wet and grey with just 30 minutes of sunshine during late morning on the second Tuesday.

I've often thought it a shame that I never make more of the lighter evenings at this time of year.

Most of them, in my memory, have been damp and cloudy and haven't lured me away from the ironing to do something spontaneous, such going tiptoe through the tulips.

But now we have an April with these extraordinary highs and lows and I am all in a flummox.

This week's hot weather has prematurely forced me to sort through my clothes to find anything summery - something I wasn't expecting to do for weeks, if not months.

I was actually hoping there would be a slow build-up. You know, a few spring jumpers and rain macs would resurface as the temperature crept up to the seasonal norm, followed by T-shirts and shorts as we progressed to the first hot spell. At least I could have gradually acclimatised.

But last Wednesday we were thrown straight into sundress weather and my wardrobe refused to co-operate.

It didn't help that I hadn't seen my summer collection for two years. This time last year I was about to give birth and most of me was hidden beneath a small marquee I'd borrowed. Pregnancy wasn't my most sartorially-fetching period.

After a long rummage through my drawers, however, I did find a light cotton dress I'd bought for a holiday a few years ago. I remembered it had made me feel young and attractive. But the sight of my flabby winter knees sagging like well-kneaded dough below the hemline put me off completely.

It also had a rather "last century" look, as had the two pairs of trousers with tapered legs I'd also dug out. So I put them all aside for the charity shop.

I then came across a couple of items I'd bought last year to inspire me to get back to my pre-motherhood shape. But it was always an unrealistic goal and I now realised I was the wrong side of 17 to be parading about in cropped tops.

Eventually I found some shorts suitable for doing the gardening in and two T-shirt that were a fairly respectable shade of off-white. But I wouldn't say I looked good.

"I desperately need some new clothes," I said to my husband as the noon-day sun sent me spiralling into depression.

"But you've got acres of stuff hanging up," he pointed out.

"What's it all doing in your wardrobe if you're not going to wear it?"

"Most of it is waiting for me to lose a stone. Then it has to be assessed for age suitability.

"Then I want to see if it's still acceptably fashionable and lastly I need to work out if it makes me feel ridiculous."

"Really?" he said, looking a bit confused. "Why don't you just wear what fits you and give the rest away?"

"Because," I said with a sigh, "that's not what women do."