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Not the most tumescent balloon, but at least it was floating on a fetching smear of colours. It was another sunny afternoon in a glorious April, but the clouds grew as the day passed, from small puffy heaps to looming grey towers, and the rain inevitably followed. Stormy summer rain though, not the featureless sweeps of drizzle that sap the soul.
A hot spring day and a hot bus home, too hot to be comfortable anywhere other than flat on my back in the garden, which was still a long way from here. This blue dodged crowds and cars and provided temporary respite from tedium on the journey, but the stifling traffic and miles to go made it a brief joy indeed.
Not one of the prettier parts of Amsterdam, and scarcely a surprise any more to see an orange balloon, but everything's a joy in that city, and it had been a balloon-free March, so this was doubly pleasing. The place has never let me down, for balloons or anything else. Bliss.
