THE best laid plans of mice and men I can't really speak for the mice population, I'm sure the ones that haven't been dissected by our felines are probably doing very nicely, but I can broadly speak for the men part of the equation, and I have to say that the plans are not doing too well.

The initial plans were laid down at a better time, way back in February when the skies were blue, the sun shone, winter was fast becoming a memory and a young man's thoughts were turning Okay, not so young, but I was planning ahead.

I had a concrete slab to lay around a swimming pool up at the château of a friend that had to be ready for the season, so a time in early March when the frosts are all but over should have been ideal. That could be done at the same time as the floors in our ruins, as they are just down the road. Then there was the first floor in the barn conversion; the Douglas joists for the second floor would be ready mid-April so a pour in early April should be just dandy, ready for the build upwards.

That is the great thing about planning; you put the hard work in early and then you enjoy the fruits of your labour. That is also one of the beauties of living on a continent, rather than a tiny windswept island like England where all kinds of weather blows in off the sea at any time. Weather patterns are more predictable and less prone to sudden changes here: it warms up in March and April is generally pleasant with just a few showers. That was my only worry, the showers.

Up at the château the concrete lorry would have to cross a field before dropping his load and making his way down to the ruins. Likewise at the barn where he had to cross the garden to get close enough to pump the concrete up to the first floor. You don't want a concrete lorry skidding about on the grass after a shower. And did I mention the roof at Darryn the brain-damaged electrician's house that was programmed in for the end of March before the temperatures get too high for roofing work?

At the end of February, just as the last piece of shuttering was put in place up at the château, the sun snuck off to some faraway corner and the skies opened, and they have stayed open ever since. It is near the end of April and we are still burning logs when we should be worried about burning skin by the pool. The rivers are bursting their banks while we have sprouted springs all over the garden in places that have never been sprung before. It is looking like the holidaymakers will be self-pouring concrete instead of self-catering. There is no chance of Douglas making it to the second floor without a first floor to work from and Darryn's roof has limped to a conclusion despite 10 tons of telescopic forklift being sunk up to its axles in mud.

It is an ill wind that blows no good fortune - being snookered on all these sites must mean that I have time to spend on the ruins, but what can I do without a concrete floor, in the rain, not to mention that other people's sites bring in money, and what use is time without money?

Global warming; are they having a laugh, or did the mice plan it all?