Still sticking with pink.
One of the joys of taking photos of flowers is afterwards sitting down with my two Wildflowers of Great Britain books – one published recently; one I purchased from a secondhand bookstore for the delightful illustrations – and trying to identify what the flower is. I am astounded that the recent publication has such awful photos of flowers, especially given the abundance of excellent photographers out there. The photographs are not only awful but are hopelessly unhelpful in identification. They are plain bad photos. Some flowers are barely recognisable, or the colour is off. Or, as in the photo of the poor buttercup, the flash was used uncessarily, wiping out all detail in the petals. Truly bizarre.
Anyway, with some back and forth between the newer and the older book, and then googling images, I have tentative belief that this is Greater Burdock, here seen drenched in summer rain. (Please do correct me if I’m wrong.)
This summer has been the driest one I have experienced in England. Most weekends have been lovely and dry, and neither of the two barbecues I planned was rained off and only one of the three I attended became an indoor meal. To one of the barbecues, the weather was so clement, I even wore my short red cordurouy skirt – the one and, thus far, only time I have worn it in my 2.5 years in England.
Today, however, has been thoroughly wet. From lunchtime, it started to drizzle and by the time I left work and headed for home on my bike, it was bucketing down. In the time that it took me to walk from my office to my bike in the carpak, I was so wet that I squelched. I had a raincoat but I did not have my waterproof trousers so my trousers dripped water as I cycled home, with the wind lashing water at my face. I could barely see, partially because my glasses were covered in droplets of water but also, because the wind blew sheets of water about the place. One car swerved into a puddle in such a way that grumpy and paranoid me decided was a deliberate attempt to soak me. The driver failed, of course, as I was already drenched beyond saturation point. After that, however, I made slow progress home, pulling to the side of the road whenever I heard a car behind me. I arrived home with frozen cheeks and stripped off in our lean-to, padding upstairs to dry off and plunge frozen toes into snuggly sheepskin boots. I think autumn has arrived.