Saturday saw the Stockholm Pride parade wending its way through the capital city of Sweden.
Your faithful reporter was there to record it all for you.
Most of the floats or groups were made up of people, but the Swedish Kennel Club was also there.
In various shapes and sizes.
Dangerously manicured poodles brought a bride along…
… while a more sedate one looked lovingly up at her owner as if to say, “When will this 90s music end?”
Meanwhile, a pair of panting corgis decked in heavy pink scarves waddled on stubby legs after elegant afghans and dancing disco queens.
Loud music, lots of balloons and plenty of rainbows … and not a drop of rain – made it a pretty good day for a parade.
For more pride pets, please visit: Camera Critters!
My sister lives near Bramber, a quaint cobble-stoned village near the rolling downs of West Sussex (that’s in southern England for those of you who don’t know).
Apart from its old houses, Bramber is famous for the ruins of its castle, Bramber Castle, that once stood proud and strong more than 900 years ago.
I wonder if the watchtower saw such impossibly blue skies the day it was finished.
And was it the guardian of the hopes and dreams of the people who gazed up at similar lilac clouds as they tilled the golden fields below?
For more historic skies, please visit: Skywatch.
High summer is here. At last!
It’s amazing how a single sunbeam can chase away the shadows
And make the heart sing.
Summer means that it is respectable, almost required, to be lazy
And dazzled water laughs in the sun.
Summer days – stretching out like friendly hands –
Making it easy to see the perfection of a perfect day,
A child’s laughter filtered through the sunlight.
I’ve only just got back from England so haven’t had time to sort through my photos. These are shots of summer in Sweden (that I took just before I left).
For more perfection, please visit: My World!
Weather is here.
Wish you were nice.
Still on holiday in southern England — enjoying the rolling hills of the Sussex countryside and the pebble beaches of the coast.
Back after the weekend.
Many thanks for visiting me. And once again, sorry that I can’t pop in to visit you!
While I’m away, I thought I would re-post this story as most of you haven’t yet had a chance to really laugh at my domestic skills:
Much as I’d like to paint myself as a saint at school, the label ‘terror’ pops to mind…
And once you have a reputation, then it kind of sticks – like egg on the face or wet spaghetti if you throw it on the wall. (What do you mean you haven’t tried?)
We went to a prison boarding school and lived in dorms. And that meant that every single item of our clothing – school uniform and mufti (i.e. casual clothing) – had to have a name tag sewn onto it!
Once, I had the temerity to show up at the beginning of term with tagless socks. The matron or housemistress decided that I should sew my name tags onto my socks myself.
This was a welcome break from the tedium of homework, so I eagerly turned my attention to this task. It took hours because I was not very good at sewing, but I was determined to do as good a job as possible.
So, sitting on the carpet in my dorm and with my little tongue sticking out, I painstakingly sewed each name tag on lovingly. I was really proud of myself when I had finished. There – laid out on the carpet for all to see – was a line of eight socks.
Bursting with excitement, I called the matron to come and admire my handiwork.
Now, this is where the bit about reputations sticking comes in…
You see, in my efforts to do a good job, I had – quite inadvertently – managed to sew all eight socks onto the carpet! Yes – they were stuck there, held prisoner on the carpet by my childish stitches. (Not sure how I managed this, but it came quite easily at the time.)
Now, any nice or normal person would have laughed off my childish mistake. Not this teacher. She was furious because she thought that I had sewn the socks onto the carpet on purpose. Because, as you know, I was a Major Terror.
I got a terrible telling off. But, at least I was never asked to sew my name tags on anything again.
Went to an outdoor museum in Sussex, England. One exhibit had all kinds of medical instruments from the end of the 1800s.
Being nervous was no fun in those days.
Although they did seem to know how to relax…
Don’t let the fear of falling keep you from knowing the joy of flight. — Lane Wallace
I’m visiting my family back home in England, so I won’t be able to visit your blogs for the next two weeks. (I will have a few posts going up now and then so please do pop in for a visit.)
I wish you many magical skies!
As the mercury rises and peaks at over 33 C here, in a country more used to cool temperatures, I am returning to England (where I come from) to enjoy time with my family.
The anklebiters and I will have adventures with parents, grandparents, cousins, uncles and aunties.
It’s been too long.
I won’t be able to visit your blogs for the next two weeks, but will have some posts going up here in case you pop by.
In the meantime, may kind breezes fill your sails,
May the sun shine warmly on your face
And may you dance among the stars.
Anklebiter #1 (my daughter) has been in horse heaven all week at a wonderful place called Oak Wood Ranch.
She has ridden informally but never had lessons. Suddenly, there she was trotting and jumping by herself.
The riding camp ended with a show on the hottest day of the year.
Oscar took refuge in the stables.
The rest of us watched with anticipation as the riders twirled and jumped in the dust.
There were thrills – and some spills…
I immediately bonded with my daughter’s horse, Attila, because he proved that it is not only mothers who can be embarrassing! (Click the picture if you need to enlarge it.)
At the end, proud parents wiped away tears
And a child’s face lit up with the joy of accomplishment.
For more thrilling pictures, visit: My World!