Life for Lola

A mystery has entered my life. For some reason whenever I travel along a certain stretch of road, be it morning, noon or night, I start singing Louis Armstrong songs. I have noticed that it is only in one direction, so there must be something that I catch a glimpse of that triggers this. This morning it was his version of La Vie en Rose complete with the "bum pa da da dum".

I looked out at the sunflowers this morning which have reached well over six feet but have yet to flower. The one at the furthest end which is the weakest looking has been the first to produce a tight head. It seems this will be the one to open up first. It got me thinking, I wonder if we all live in pots of John Innes number 2. What stage of our lives are we in bud? when do we flower? When do we set seed and most importantly when are we dead headed?

I was watching a bit of the olympics last night and was looking at the gymnasts with their hair all up. They all looked the same made up like painted dolls. I was imaging the state of the greek sewage system (never that stable) after that lot had got out of the showers. There will be towelling hair bands, long lengths of hair and glitter backing up round Athens for years.