Yesterday we talked, we were in a slow-moving stream of traffic and there was plenty of time to admire the pretty countryside. The hawthorn hedges were in full bloom.
"Spring this year has been a bit like a performance at the Music Halls".
"Oh yes? How come?"
"Well, Spring has been late and it seems that each act has been on for just five minutes, trying to hog the stage; while the next act's already waiting in the wings, pushing and shoving to get centre stage".
" Just look at the hedgerows. The cow parsley could be the chorus line".
" Yes, I can see that. All frothy and frou-frou".
"The dandelions have had their spectacular five minutes in the sun, now they've gone faded and blowsy and their glory days are over.
Look at them, their hair's already turned white, there are far too many of them, gone to seed and turned out to grass. Nobody wants an old dame, everybody runs for cover when they see them coming, Sad, really".
"Look at that hedge over there; broom, lilac and hawthorn all jostling for space at the same time. Perhaps they are the can can dancers, petticoats flashing, legs kicking".
"We must be coming up to the main attraction, here come the chorines, a whole field of them, dancing and swaying in the breeze, each pretty little thing beaming and turning to the sun, each trying to attract our attention".
"Ah, here she is, the one we've all been waiting for, teasing and twirling, tantalizing and tempting".
We seem to have got our metaphors slightly mangled during the drive and blithely swept from music hall, to vaudeville, to strip joint. Never having experienced any of them, I think we may be forgiven.
On the way home we left the delights of nature to get on with it and had a splendid lunch instead.