Feel like Groundhog Day? That's because it is ...

While the whims of a marmot meteorologist in rural Pennsylvania have little bearing on life here in Scotland, it coincides with Candlemas and Imbolc (also known as St Brigid’s Day), cross-quarter days which mark the halfway point between the winter solstice and spring equinox.

We are slowly emerging out of the darkness. The first green shoots of a new season are within sight. Isn’t that a joyous balm for the soul? I like to think so.

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February always feels like a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it-month. It is less than a fortnight to Valentine’s Day, then a week after that is Shrove Tuesday – or “Pancake Day” – and before you know it, we’re galloping into March.

But back to Groundhog Day. The legend of Punxsutawney Phil is a curious and enduringly fascinating one. Thousands flock to observe the spectacle, with many more tuning in to watch across North America and around the world.

The annual ceremony takes place at Gobbler’s Knob, a colourfully-named park which apparently gained its moniker because the area was once home to wild turkeys and not, as you might think, a popular haunt for less salubrious activities.

Dating from the 19th century, the ritual (which hinges on whether the groundhog sees his shadow or not) is based around a Pennsylvania Dutch superstition. Some credit the link between this particular date and weather predictions to an old Scottish couplet: “If Candlemas Day is bright and clear, there'll be two winters in the year.”

Punxsutawney Phil is merely the most famous of several groundhogs who make weather predictions each February 2. Among his peers are Buckeye Chuck in Marion, Ohio; French Creek Freddie in West Virginia; and Wiarton Willie in Ontario, Canada.

Punxsutawney Phil tragically predicting six more weeks of winter (Image: AP)

In recent times, animal welfare charity Peta has called for Phil et al to be retired from their forecasting duties and replaced by a “cutting-edge animatronic groundhog that could actually predict the weather using artificial intelligence instead”. As yet, that hasn’t come to pass.

Like most Scots, I learned about Groundhog Day through the 1993 comedy film – starring Bill Murray and Andie MacDowell – about an arrogant and self-centred weather reporter made to live the same day on a loop until he mends the errors of his ways.

Sky Cinema will continue its tradition of marking Groundhog Day with back-to-back screenings. I’ll definitely squeeze in at least one viewing before today draws to a close.

Groundhog Day – the movie – turns 30 this year. Not 20 as my ropey/slightly deluded maths first deduced. Which brings me to the next order of business: the grave realisation that 1963 was to 1993 what 1993 is to 2023 (still with me?). In short, the 1990s are officially ye olde days.

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As if we needed further proof, That ’90s Show – the sequel to That ’70s Show which aired from 1998 to 2006 – recently debuted on Netflix. According to IMDB, it is a “period comedy series”. Yep, the 1990s are now regarded as “period”.

I watched a few episodes of That ’90s Show, purely to bask in the sweet nostalgia. Having never been an avid viewer of That ’70s Show, the myriad inside jokes – denoted by uproarious laughter from the live studio audience – went largely over my head.

I spent most of the time studying the set, props and outlandish outfits, finding myself strangely comforted by the familiarity of objects that are now emblems of my teenage years.

“The past is a foreign country: they do things differently there,” wrote LP Hartley in his 1953 novel The Go-Between. Sometimes it is nice to visit, albeit only fleetingly.