Blue-rinsed and perm-headed
eavesdrop our conversation.
As we breakfasted on a café terrace the other day, the great heavy mops of hydrangeas nodded gently at us like elderly women listening in and approving our plans for the day.
At least, that was my first thought.
But when I loaded the photos to the computer and looked again, I decided they were more like those dreadful flowery bathing caps we used wear in the Sixties.
So now I’m wondering how whether the blue and the pink bushes were two competing teams warming up for a display of snchronised swimming – although quite how they were expecting to manage it in the mountains of central Spain, I’m not sure.