I have an irrationally deep love for cherry blossom. I know it’s slightly sad, but it actually makes me feel physically happy inside around this time of year when the flowers bloom on the trees around the town. I remember walking back from infant school on spring afternoons and jumping up to grab handfuls of the soft, pink clumps like snowballs of petals, putting it in my hair, in a vase, or any receptacle that I felt needed decorating with the stuff (which was most things).
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Housemate enjoying wine and strawberries |
I don’t care who I marry or where, as long as I can have my wedding photographs underneath a cherry blossom tree on a windy day. They are JUST SO PRETTY. I know that sentence is sickeningly girly, and I’m almost ashamed of the girlish glee with which I celebrate the coming of the cherry blossom - but not quite, because I just absolutely love it. So it gives me enormous pleasure to spend an April day in Bute Park in Cardiff having a picnic when the cherry blossom trees are displayed in all their glory. This weekend, my housemate and I packed a picnic in a recently acquired travelling case which we found at the car boot, laden with wine, strawberries, salad and various things to dip in other various yummy things and went and sat on a blanket in the park for the afternoon. At this point in time, if I were a SIM, my happiness bar would be full green. I don’t care if I looked pretentious with my premade olive and feta salad in a Tupperware box, sipping chilled iced wine from a glass trying to learn Spanish from a book whilst dressed in maxi skirt and dangly earrings – I was inextricably happy.
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