Cars seem to be getting colourful again. For quite a while you could look at a car park and sea serried ranks of black, white, and all shades of grey from charcoal to palest silver, but hardly any colour. Now, when I go to the gym, there are reds (Mazda red is The Best Red), blues, and some outliers. There were four green cars this morning: a Mini in a nice hunting green, something flashy in 'dark lizard', something that looked like mint green with milk in it, and something like a melted lime Opal Fruit Starburst. And a yellow. And we've seen an obnoxious purple which is something very flash, maybe a Lamborghini.

*

Well. We had an all-day rehearsal yesterday for my mixed chorus, and the day before that there was Ruffmead Fest, the mini music festival in someone's back garden. I had initially baked for this, cheese and rosemary shortbread biscuits, which sounded nice but... came out of the oven in think, pitiful smudges on the baking tray and crumble when I breathed on them, let alone tried to pick them up. So I made devilled eggs instead.

And I performed a poem.

* there was no actual microphone, although the hosts had thoughtfully provided a cardboard one

I can't remember if I ever put this up on my journal before, so I shall included it under the cut. As we no longer live in the Victorian era, when the minor transgressions of small children (like chewing bits of string) were punished with, well, death, I thought a Modern Day Matilda would be appropriate. There are a few phrases directly attributable to Hilaire Belloc, and the discerning long-term reader will also notice that it draws from my earlier take on this theme, The Story of James Lance, who Told Lies, and Came to a Sticky End.

I think I shall put it on my AO3, but am a bit at a loss as to fandom.

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