...a full 20 (including myself and one hidden profile!) Thank you so much.
on May Day, as bluebells appear in carpets, white hawthorn replaces pink cherry blossom and nightingales begin to sing, for me nothing compares to the green and intricate beauty of our isle. And it makes me want to watch Morris dancers and drink yet more tea.
I discovered at the weekend that my love of Morris dancing may be genetic, they originated over 500 years ago from the Cotswolds and reach their peak of skipping, whooping and jangling around whitsun - so May is their busiest month. Sadly they are a male phenomena, so I can only watch.
HAPPY May Day.

Ha, that's what you think. My mum - years back when she was young and very pretty - was once dragged into a Morris dancing spectacle, made the centerpiece of the dance, then hoisted up onto the dancers' shoulders, where she gamely threw her hands into the air in a thrilling climax to the dance. She was mortified, and blamed the Laura Ashley dress. We - being part French - perhaps share a genetic aversion to Morris dancers.
ReplyDeleteArgh - I blame Laura Ashley entirely for that alarming experience, your poor Mum... they thought she was the perfect English maiden! Wonderful visual image though - bet they have a Morris equivalent in France with merry music and a wild boar's bladder whirling in the wind?
ReplyDeletePS: I once saw a prostitute in a long laura ashley dress in Balham obviously going for a niche market. Those floral, seemingly harmless, dresses should come with a health warning!