The celebrated opening lines of a playful poem made famous, though not written, by Spike Milligan were among the first verses I ever learned by heart. My brother Simon first shared these nonsensical rhymes with me, filling my mind with frivolous gibberish—much of which, regrettably, continues to linger in my memory.

Simon later became a well-regarded and cherished English teacher in Cape Town, guiding countless pupils over the years through the finest works of Milligan and Monty Python.

Proper spring finally arrived last week, with Wednesday becoming the warmest early-April day since 1946.

I spent time working in my garden, walked my dog Molly through Preston Park, and cycled along the Undercliff Walk with my niece Janice, another casualty of her father’s passion for Milligan and Python.

Brighton stands out as one of the finest places to be during a warm, sunny spring afternoon.

I managed to avoid adopting Victor Meldrew’s outlook when confronted with vandalism, neglect, irritations, or everyday thoughtlessness throughout the week. There were certainly moments deserving of his famous phrase—yet I refused to let them get to me.

One example involves the growing practice of having telephone conversations on speakerphone in public areas, including buses and eateries. Listening to just one side of what is usually a tedious exchange is unpleasant enough, but being subjected to both sides doubles the unwanted exposure to their uninspiring daily routines.

Then there was that unmanned aircraft hovering above on a peaceful afternoon in Preston Park. The persistent buzzing initially drew a distinctly Meldrew-like exclamation from me, though I ultimately let it go. The weather was far too beautiful to be spoilt by a child with a remote-controlled device. I simply wished the troublesome object had come crashing down and been destroyed.

As flowers come into bloom, spirits lift in turn. However, an outbreak of mindless, pitiful graffiti has also emerged on walls and those unsightly junction boxes called street furniture. These taggers may think they have the next Banksy, but their criminal defacement has all the creativity and artistic merit of a talented preschooler’s first scribbles.

Nonetheless, I continue to embrace spring’s pleasures. You will not hear me say I don’t believe it—even when witnessing construction work blocking pavements and cycling routes, especially when no workers are present and no actual building is happening.

Given last week’s gorgeous sunshine, Mr. Meldrew might find it unbelievable that Palmeira Square has not seen a single shovel in the six months since being surrounded by fencing for improvements. The fencing is rented and will prove hugely costly for council taxpayers. Yet I feel sympathy for the local authority. One must acknowledge that our representatives are busy with plans to buy the local bus company and apply a politician’s distinctive touch to what currently operates as excellent public transport.

The threatened bus service takeover led to speculation about how Victor Meldrew might react. Would he side with former American President Ronald Reagan, who declared the most terrifying words in English to be those about being from the government and being there to help?

I even kept up my cheerful disposition during my twice-yearly appointment with my excellent doctor, who examined the latest batch of blood test results covering various conditions typical for men of my age. I hope the good physician does not consider me a hypochondriac. Victor Meldrew was known to read medical textbooks to discover which illness might have afflicted him, prompting his long-suffering wife Margaret to comment he was browsing to see what he could die of next.

Yet the week’s highlight—indeed, the highlight of recent years—came on Saturday when family and friends travelled from far-flung places including South Africa and America to watch my daughter Clare marry her long-term partner, Connaire. It was a lovely occasion, though it meant missing a day of cricket at Hove where Sussex took on Warwickshire. Parents must sometimes make sacrifices.

When I suggested to my wife that I might sneak off to catch at least one innings over the weekend, her response echoed a less restrained version of Meldrew’s cry of exasperation.

Andy Winter is a former councillor who spent four decades working in social care and homelessness services.