Down the Drain

This kind of follows on from this.

I hate pink. Pastel pink. It makes me feel nauseous like no other colour does.
And all the gender associations get me rather annoyed.

But the cherry is the one exception. In Spring I allow myself to endulge with the tree in the sheer frivolity of the blossom. After the grey and brown of the season past it sticks two fingers up at the cold dull colours of winter and screams Hello. The no holds barred fluffyness, the in your face exuberance. The ridiculous pastelness. Fabulous.
Even the way the petals gets plucked off the tree when the wind blows captures me in its visual acrobatic display. Whipped around me in a confetti embrace, swirling around the streets reluctant to settle until it finally has to rest and nestles in the gutter. And this bit I love best. It's last Hurrah! As you cycle along over the kerb side drains and look down they are all filled with colour. Pastel pink colour. And I love it.
My dad thinks I've lost it a bit when I tell him this; he'd worry about the clogged drains he tells me. I think life is too short to worry about that and in any case in Edinburgh that is the least of our concerns....we still have tram works......