Year 40, day 170

And home from our weekend in Co. Clare.

The bluebells that are not blue are blooming. Or pinkming, I should perhaps say. (They're actually quite pink - more so than I was able to record here.)

I've no idea if they're a carefully selected cultivar or a random garden mutation. They came with the house. I thought we might have extinguished them (unintentionally) when we redid the garden a few years ago, but back they came to clash happily with the brickwork. I love them.

(Don't worry, we have some blue ones too.)