This week’s challenge is a bit of a problem, coming as it does just a couple of weeks after the topic was “colours”.
Even WordPress themselves used flowers to illustrate colours. So did I, which leaves me a bit stuck. And for those of us who like to try to make up for our lack of photographic skills by having fun with the narrative the topic is quite limited. Flowers are flowers, there is not a lot you can say about that. A suggestion by Mrs Tin that I use pictures of flours is definitely cheating. Still, this is for her:
(I already used photos of bottles of Red Lemonade in a previous Photo Challenge, so it’s only a matter of time before the staff in Tesco ask me to stop coming in, taking pictures of their merchandise and walking out without buying anything).
It’s not just me who’s disappointed by the topic. Bedouin Arabs sitting at their computers in their tents (the internet is everywhere) read the topic and said لا يمكنك أن تكون خطير (“you cannot be serious” in Arabic), sighed and then trudged out to take a photo of the only cactus within two hundred square miles.
Eskimos in their igloos said “erkpakpok! akritomayok!” (“flowers! stupid!” in Inuit) and went outside, cut a hole in the ice, and dropped their laptops into it.
Still, I must try. This is from our own front garden:
I’d forgotten it was there, to be honest, and only noticed it this morning because my mind was full of flowers, rather like the Woodstock generation. It’s lovely, and its only drawback is that we can’t think of anywhere to hang it, and it won’t stand up on its own.
This is a house near where I live:
It frankly looks like the floral version of one of those houses that has lit-up snowmen and Santas covering every inch of them at Christmas. I am vowing now to return in October (the sacrifices I make for my art, it involves getting off the bus one stop earlier) and photo what it looks like then, it will probably look like Sleeping Beauty’s castle about half-way through her hundred-year nap.
I love this:
It’s a garden about the size of a kitchen table on the quays in central Dublin, but the owners of this garden have not let its titchiness hinder their love of flowers.
These two signs are at the southern entrance to our town:
The signs are in Irish (four languages in one post, in your face Stephen Fry). As you enter the town you see the “failte”, meaning welcome, and as you leave you see the “slan”, basically meaning sod-off.
I think they’re the ultimate in tackiness, whereas at the northern entrance we have this, lovingly maintained by the owners of the pharmacy across the road:
It just has to be the coolest flower-pot on the planet.