I always feel like bluebells don't hang around long enough, you know? In the same way that a large glass of wine seems to disappear before you've even drunk it, bluebells seem to burst forth in all this glorious great blue glory and just as you get used to frolicking in fields of blue and wondering why you ever have a reason to be sad again; they bugger off.
Also interesting fact alert (because this blog isn't all about pretty pictures and meaningless rambles, there is a solid 0.1% of it that caters to those budding intellectuals out there, so this ones for you Stevie Hawking, you loyal reader, you):
half of the entire world's population of bluebells are here in the UK.
If you find me crying into a dead bluebell field in the coming weeks, please just sympathetically pat me on the back and remind me that the sunflowers will be out soon. Or that Leonardo Di Caprio is still single. I might stop sobbing and find the strength to carry on.