‘I promised you a rose garden’ Rubbish Day

It has been a bit of a week. A work deadline came and went. There was much celebration with much wine. The small people are on school holidays again. There was much wine.

I feel these days that the time between holidays is so fast. The small people are becoming big people too fast. Winter turns to spring turns to summer too fast. Perhaps spending all day looking at huge periods of time, looking at people coming and going over periods of hundreds of years, makes a month seem like a whoosh! and a ‘where did that go?’. And I could spend some time musing over the flowers that my charming husband bought me now having withered and died. Fleeting beauty and all that.

Or, I could put on a pair of floral trews, a floral jacket, floral shoes, and even the floral knickers; I could recruit myself a little flower fairy and cause a ruckus in the street on the Sunday prior to Rubbish Day Monday. Today was especially raucous. One neighbour came to visit en route to another neighbour’s house with another neighbour’s dog. Our Charlie dog was fairly interested, as was Beatrice Bloodhound. We made a scene but if ever you make a scene, do it as a rose garden I always say.

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About tracyloveshistory

I have an inordinate fondness for a long time ago. I write about history and my family's place in it; clothes, shoes, war, memory, loss and whatever else takes my fancy. I wear red lipstick every second day and I dress up. A lot. Photograph by the extraordinary Ben Skinner at Arwen Garnentry.

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