My life in pictures, words, and other stuff: poppies

I work part time. This is mainly due to the circumstances around having to look after my son who has severe learning difficulties. As a result my current employment means I get a whole day off each week. Now I generally end up wasting the day by arranging things like dentist appointments; I recently had to get root canal work which was fun while it lasted. Occasionally I would do fun selfish things like take a trip to the seaside, well to the mudflats, of Maldon, but mainly I waste the day by popping into St. Albans, and wandering around buying too many books, and generally having a meh time.
This week was a little different. My neighbour decided to book roofers to repair the hat of his house. It needed doing, and chunks of concrete were in grave danger of falling down, and braining someone. Unfortunately the scaffolders had completely blocked my exit so my car was going nowhere in a hurry. So what's a chap to do? I decided to do something I hadn't done for a long time. I grabbed my camera gear, and headed off over the fields for a healthy perambulation in the fresh air.
We are lucky to live so close to the countryside, and although you can never escape the dull roar of the M25, there is still plenty of greenery that you can put up with it. One particular field if often festooned by the rich reds of Poppies, and the luscious blues of Cornflower.

In the spring this is a rich carpet of red, and blue, but at this time of year the poppies have mainly gone to seed, and the cornflower are fading fast. It is however a pretty sight.

A little further on my travels I cross a bridge over the aforementioned M25. It is here that the local graffiti brigade ply their trade. It starts with the novice painters who have little imagination in both their application, and their choice of football team.

The next level up at least try to bring some creativity into their work, although I'm not sure these satanic artists are trying to portray Ali G or Jimmy Saville. Perhaps we will never know.

Our next paint sprayers start to use colour in a more flamboyant manner, and you will see in the top left corner some stencil work that even Banksy would be proud of.

And then finally someone comes along showboating, and all the other little arty vandals give up and go home.

The previous weekend we could hear what I can only describe, in my Victor Meldrewesque middle aged fashion, as dance music drifting over our town. We could not decide whether it was from the local football club, or a party, or even the booming from the local drug dealers car plying their trade. I think I have now solved the mystery. A field that has been used as a bike scrambling course, much to the annoyance of the owners, had been used as the overspill campsite from a local farm that appeared to have been having a little festival. Judging by the amount of plastic litter strewn about they had not followed Glastonbury's example of trying to save the planet