By: Blonde Two
I went to visit my Dad over our extra long bank holiday weekend (thanks Your Majesty!) Dad lives in a very quiet house, in a very quiet garden, in a very quiet Cornish village.
And he has a lawn. At least he has a lawn, but this lawn isn’t a lawn of grass; it isn’t a lawn of camomile, it is a lawn of wild primroses.
It is really pretty (not beautiful, that would be too sophisticated) so, after a sausage lunch and a half of ale, I took some photos in the sun and fell asleep on the primrose lawn. Luckily they are bouncy little fellows and sprung straight back up after their squashing.
My primroses make me laugh. I move them into the soil in the flower bed each autumn when I have my annual guilt-day about the garden. Each spring they flower enthusiastically – from the gravel path next to the flower bed. I never see them walk there, though.