On the day:
17/04/2012
On the way:
April showers, May flowers, yadda yadda yadda. This is the station, here.
It has already had its flourish of daffodils, those irrationally optimistic yellow heads bursting through the ice and snow at the faintest glimmer of sunlight.
But there's something irresistible about those cheerful faces, the village idiots dutiful, daff's army, in their haphazard formation, standing to attention out on the green in all weathers, beaming through the sleet. Stupid boys.
But by mid-April they're gone, mostly. Pulled up their roots, packed up their suitcases, crossed the rails in the dark of night and hopped on a southbound, the 23.39, the last train for the coast, the day the daffys died, and we were singing...
A bedraggled rearguard remains, someone has to watch over the bulbs unil the next season, perky petals wilting, golden grins, sunny sides up, all bowing their heads, rotting to brown, the ultimate sacrifice. So rest in peace brave soldiers until you rise again, bursting brightly through next season's snows.
Meanwhile we'll just have to make do with summer sunshine.
After those showers.
On the pod:
Talking Loud and Clear - Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark.
On the front page:
Breivik impassive as court hears desperate phone call from Utoya
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