Bunting

The bunting is still strewn across the Mews. I eye them with suspicion (metaphorically, from where I sit I can only see two of the triangular flags, one coloured red, the other a Union Jack) as it only takes the slightest of breezes for them to wake from their silent slumber. Trying to watch the film of 'The Krays' last night (all muted colours, red brick back streets and 40 watt bulb lit rooms) the noise of the flags were quite incredible, sounding ridiculously loud, and like a number of different things; a rain storm, waves, and, more alarmingly of all, the sound of something collapsing. I quite liked the sound - it gave the living room an ambience of being deep in winter, deep in the small hours. There was an urgent to it all, as if the bunting had something it desperately wanted to say. There was no-one to hear but me though - and I could not translate the language of those breezy flags.