Soggy Sunday Sus

Yesterday, my friend from work and I went out for a Sunday drive in her Triumph 1500. It was very nice of the cloud base to come down and provide her grey car with such handy camouflage, don't you think?


We went to Hopton Hall

(skit would appreciate it if someone gave her the money to live somewhere like this)

to see the snowdrops.

to prove to ourselves that Spring really is on the way.

Other things we happened to see included an exotic and apparently one-legged pheasant in a cage
and his very scary wife.

Also a statue who had lost his flute/piccolo and had it replaced with a twig. Or maybe he had it stolen by another statue in a case of wind instrument envy. Never mind, he has his fig leaf to comfort him.

If funds were insufficient for the main house, skit might consent to live in the stables/coach-house conversion nearby.


In wandering around the grounds, we found an evil red twig-tree (I think it is radiating evil snowdropicidal vibes - look how they flee from it)

and a pre-pubescent formal garden.

But oh no - what's this? Boxicide!

*points finger dramatically* I accuse the Snowdrops of Mass Destruction! Look at them massing, ready to take over the world at a moment's notice.


But a single clump, in the dampness and dullness of the mizzle - beautiful. Better than any of the rest of it.


(until I crushed them into nothingness with my giant Pythonesque foot from the sky, moo-whahaha...ahem. No, not really.)