White Rose.

After yesterday’s miserable weather, there was a bit of sun today – if you knew where to look. Herself needed taxiing to collect the Rosslyn tapestry that she and the rest of the team are reworking after its theft earlier in the year. While I was waiting for her to appear, I strolled round just outside the chapel and found a couple of rose blooms and grabbed a Blip having drawn blood on the rather vicious thorns while making some minor adjustments to the composition.
 
It always seems ironic to me that my favourite flower, though I do prefer them to have a tinge of pink about them, should be symbolic of one of the bloodier portions of British history.