Sunday I remarked to Mary how pretty all the candles on the horse chestnut trees were as we cycled along the Thames path: huge white flowers with little pinks dots.
Monday I was cursing them. Tree pollen is sharp stuff and the light breeze whipped up a continuous mist all the way home. It was like cycling through fine cinder dust. Gritty stuff and my eyes are still sore today. I pity any hay fever sufferers who are allergic to the stuff.
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