Fancies And Follies

 I have a lot of postcards. They were bought over the years as souvenirs by myself, my mother and my grandmother. Granny died in the early 1970s so her contributions to the stash will be 50 years old and counting. Every so often I get inspired and pick out one or two out and send them to people. I'd like to disperse them all before I die...

The guy whose garden runs along the back of ours is filling it with rainbow bunting. We know the neighbours to either side of us but we don't know him so we can't hope for an invitation to his LGBTQ+ party- which is a pity.  But it's one of the rules of English suburban living that one does as little as possible to disturb the illusion that not only is the Englishman's home his castle but the silly little plot of land attached to it is a private estate that extends to the far horizon.  All those bobbing heads one sees beyond the hedges? Gaze over the top of them and- whatever you do- don't meet their eyes. Those buildings? Oh, they're just follies I had my architect run up for me. Amusin' dontcha know!"

So That's Why

 I was wondering why the neighbour had hung out his bunting. Was it for a birthday party, a wedding even?- and the obvious answer didn't even cross my mind- which is that it's Pride weekend. I went for my usual saunter by the sea and stopped on my way home to watch as the parade- with its anarchistic drummers and lovers of all ages- made its way down Royal Parade to the festival site in Princes Park.