Yellow

This Saturday's blog is brought to you by: the colour yellow, the number 7, the letter K, the planet Mercury, the Sicilian lemon, the custard frog protection society and the fans of Primrose Hill. Let the sunshine in.

In anticipation of this deepest, darkest winter lockdown when scheduling the latest run of topics, I hoped yellow could be a theme the Dead Good collective might respond to happily. That turned out to be a good hunch, as this is the sixth blog in a week on the subject (and we haven't seen that kind of run in a while).

I've always regarded yellow as a special colour, light and fresh with positivity, warmer and richer than white, vibrant and bold. It floods the eye. It's the colour of sunshine (if indeed sunshine has a colour), of laughter (if indeed laughter ditto...), of happiness, honeycombs and gold, of jonquil and primroses, of sandy beaches, butter, canaries, emergency vehicles, bananas and custard.

It's the brightest (and best?) of the primary colours and a fitting counter-point to the blues.  As with its near-neighbour on the colour wheel (the fabulous tangerine), in my view you can never have too much of it. Need I go on? I think I need not. What's not to love?

Primrose Hill models yellow?

Proceeding then, to a poem on theme, the catalyst for this latest piece from the imaginarium was finding a couple of post-it notes adhering (forgotten?) inside the back cover of a novel that I bought second-hand from an online bookshop during lockdown. Before I got to reading the novel, I spent time wondering what that other story might have been, the real-life one. 

This, then, while not exactly another 'found' poem, does quote both notes verbatim as part of a more speculative 'so what might that all have been about and where did it go next?' exercise. I hope you approve.

On Yellow Post-it Notes

found stuck in the back of a second-hand book,

an intriguing list of things to do.

The first note reads thus: Lillywhites - suitcase,

Accessorize, bank, Boots No. 7,

penguin toy, Marble Arch M&S - tape measure!

There's no inscription on the title page

to give a clue to previous owner.

Now if it had been me: name, date and place.

That's how one could trace my movements 

through half a century, homes, colleges, holidays,

even work assignments, if one chose to look.

But I digress. The title might provide an insight:

Mary Renault's 'The Friendly Young Ladies',

a Virago Modern Classic (147 to be precise).

A second note states: Sofa bed 174 (coincidence?),

H 85 x W 196 x D 97, seat H 45 arm H 61,

back rail 73, colour Jonquil, cushions extra!

What do I assume from those ageing sticky scraps? 

Mission accomplished at M&S with tape measure?

Bijou metroland nest being fitted out for guest,

perhaps a child? Holiday or hospital visit planned?

Tiny bedsit being reconfigured to accommodate

another? Maybe the reader's new-found lover?

Unlikely that she owned a penguin as a pet -

herring would surely have been on note one if so.

Clearly a girl of sunny disposition on a budget

and a mission, but those forgotten posts - worrying.

I wonder did she ever get her Jonquil sofa bed 174?

Maybe she lost the book on the journey home,

encumbered by a suitcase and shopping bags,

dimensions disappearing down the Central line.

Or did she simply one day offload the book? 

Plot not compelling? Shelves not broad enough?

Maybe the reminder of a relationship which didn't

measure up? Questions remain. There's no telling. 

Thanks for reading my zany stuff. Stay bright, S ;-)