crazycrone

There are a lot of hedges along Wandsworth Road that carry tiny white flowers with an extremely strong sickly-sweet smell. My mother used to call them 'broom', but she was obviously mixed up, (as she frequently was-). Whatever they are, the sneeze-inducing scent took me right back to the back  streets of Brooklyn, as I plodded back from the launderette today. As a very small kid, my own legion of allergies not yet developed, I liked them because the clusters of flowers were so wee, like fairy nosegays. My parents hated them, as they induced exhausting volleys of whopping elephant trumpety sneezes and  hellish itchings and oozings... The pollen was all blowing around today, too. I  had already decided to keep well away from the West End because of the protesting cabbies blocking off Whitehall, and my convulsive blasts and hackings while exercising and doing my errands round here convinced me to get off the fecking streets altogether. Bah.
I watched BLUE JASMINE, which was quite good. I prefer Woody Allen in darker mode, and Cate Blanchett really pulled out the stops.