Outside Britain the English obsession with flowers -from both men and women- seems more than a little homo. When it comes down to it, who really cares about some plants’ breeding cycles?
I’ll tell you… People that have endured six months of grey everything.
The thing is, when I moved from Australia to New Zealand the arrival of Spring was sudden and more than a little breathtaking. The empty, dead branches would be brown one day and the next it was like someone had coloured their ends in with a bright green highlighter.
England tops this. The arrival of Spring is like being punched in the cock by a Care Bear.
These photos are from the green near my house. In the last week or so, Daffodils have appeared everywhere in almost random copses. They’d be worth a small fortune back home.
And it’s not just in the leafy parts of West London. I was shopping at the giant Westfield in Shepherd’s Bush on Sunday and they had daffodils all through their green, too! Not that it helped. Shepherd’s Bush is still a fucking hole. It just made it look like something was throwing a child cancer benefit in Kabul.
For some reason (professional dignity) I opted not to take photos from the balcony of the Hospital Club, where I have been spending the last few days working on proposals with the sponsorship manager. They’d only be impressive if you have spent the last six months away from sunlight anyway. To the non-British reader(s) it would just look like rooftops. Covent Garden rooftops with the London Eye and tower bridge in the background.
So yes, loving the arrival of Springtime. It makes you feel like you’ve earned it in some way.