Carnivals and kilts

Well it is most gratifying to know that this blog is read and responded to by the Powers That Be (apart from my chums at the Pentagon, of course - not that they ever respond). My last post bemoaned the atrocious and unseasonal weather in these parts. Then just two days later, 'ping' the Summer Weather Switch was flicked and here we are, basking in our second day of Mediterranean sunshine and heat. Thank you!


Mersea Carnival on Saturday, and Small Doyle No 3 on the Mersea Dance, Parisian-themed float - which won Best Float Prize! - Hooray! Hurrah! And how we all cheered.

The Mersea Dance prizewinning float!

Boudica - Colchester's own Samba Bloco

Members of the Brandeston Jazz Band, playing 'Careless Love'.

Spent a jolly afternoon at the Legion Field, munching pasties, ice-creams and candyfloss and perusing all the stalls - one of those timeless sort of events which would not have been out of place in Walmington on Sea circa 1940.

A communique from Roy Hammans apropos my last post, brings news that he has now collected his fabulous Mersea Boat Hulls photos into one gallery, here. An almost edible celebration of the evocative beauty of peeling paint. I should also mention, for the benefit of all those interested in photography, that Roy shares his long and enthralling list of photography-related links here. The list is aptly entitled 'So many links, so little time . . . ', but, hey, there are always the wee small hours when everyone else is in bed and so should you be, but . . . just one more link . . . and one more glass of wine/can of Guinness . . . and another link . . . and another . . . Life is short, but visiting these links will make it all seem worthwhile!

G'wan, g'wan (as another, more famous Mrs Doyle, famously urged) . . . you know you want to . . .

Excitement now mounting vis-à-vis my lovely sister's forthcoming wedding. Second round of chemo now out of way - again, with minimal side-effects, thank goodness - she is now counting the days. And so am I, but not in a good way, because Small Doyle No 3's replacement bridesmaid's dress has yet to arrive (first attempt went very badly wrong and is best forgotten about, but at least I secured a full refund!). I am remaining calm. At the moment.

It has been agreed that Small Doyle No 2 - who's to be an usher on the day - will wear very smart new charcoal lounge suit, rather than mini-morning suit, which somehow looked more like fancy dress on a 10-year-old than anything else. He is very pleased about this, and also with his tartan waistcoat, which will echo that of the bona fide Scottish groom. (The only semi-bona fide Scottish Best Man, on the other hand, has, from the start, insisted on full kilt ensemble, worn, moreover, the 'traditional' way, so we are all looking forward to accidentally dropping our contact lenses/lipstick/nacho chips on the dance floor at the evening ceilidh. Ho ho, as if.) SD No 2 will not be wearing the Doyle tartan which is his by right, because it would completely clash with the colour scheme for the day. Horrors. (Incidentally, I note that the characteristics of the Doyle tartan are listed as 'Green for its Irishness; Red for the warlike Danish Vikings; Gold for glory and wealth'. Hmm, well, a bit of the latter wouldn't go a miss, thankyouverymuch. Too much of the Blarney and too little of the glory and wealth in this particular branch of the clan, unfortunately.)

My own family name, Holmes, means (or so I believe), 'meadow lands near or surrounded by water, grassy plains; sometimes an island'. Altogether gentler and less . . . er, 'warlike', on the whole. And could account for a very marked penchant for islands from an early age (despite having been dragged up in land-locked Berkshire).