imagined colours

The post Fairground Colours, written some years ago, includes the phrase “There’s little sadder than a fairground by daylight”.

But that was in Spain, where the heat and dazzle of the sun drain the bright neon from the rides and leave drab pastels instead.

Here in the UK, the light has a different quality.
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point seven five

It’s Michaelmas Day so I have been rummaging around the web to find some ideas for words to accompany a couple of photos of Michaelmas daisies.

Firstly, I checked up on the quarter days and realised that although I remember Midsummer, Michaelmas and Christmas, the one I always forget is Lady Day, which falls on March 25th.
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things worth celebrating

The August bank holiday weekend is just about at an end.

Despite it having been the longest, hottest summer in who knows how long, yesterday we had torrential rain and today has been as grey and breezy as might have been expected if global warming had never been invented.

Essentially, there are no more national fiestas now until Christmas.
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parked

This weekend has been far too hot and far too busy, which is my excuse for not posting on the blog yesterday and almost failing to post today.

I’ve spent far too long on my feet in the sunshine and am exhausted. But I resisted the temptation to jump in the river and cool off, however green and cool and tempting it looked.
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success and enchantment

In the last few days, I’ve been hankering for an English version of the expression Feliz salida y entrada, which the Spanish use in the days leading up to New Year. It just doesn’t really have an equivalent in English.

When you speak two languages, the second one changes your world view and gives you access to all kinds of expressions and ideas that you didn’t realise existed when you were limited to your mother tongue.
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maybe; maybe not

No dabbling in the dew this morning – I’d have had to put my wellies on and am not sure how you tell dew that has risen from rain that has fallen.

No Morris dancers with their bells and wooden staves, and no dancing round the Maypole.

No Green Man and no May Queen.
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almost over

When I lived in Spain I used to complain about how long the holiday season lasted: it seemed to stretch all the way from the fiestas at the beginning of December until past Twelfth Night.**

Here in the UK, though, much as I was bemoaning the supermarket aisles crammed with marzipan, iced cake and mince pies back in October, Christmas seems to be a bit of a flash in the pan.
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