 You could hand over hard cash to find out who you are at 'True Colors' -- or you might try it for free in one of 'kstarbuck's Quizilla' offerings.
I found that my mind is not the same colour as my aura's generally supposed to be, according to somebody who professes to know about these things. Thanks to Lynn at 'Bacon, Cheese and Oatcakes' for the brain tint, and for forwarding me via her enjoyable blog to Fembat ("Glimpse of a Grrl" is today's poser there).
Both have been added to a blogroll which is getting special attention since I've just renewed my subscription and quite forgiven Blogrolling for a recent server crash which had blogs all over the place refusing to load properly.
Fembat has an original way of doing the "100 things about me" thing -- she leaves it entirely to others!
Though I have a hard time thinking of myself as an unadulterated Brit, I also can't resist the opportunity to make this the first frog-blog at Britblog, also now added though the place offered me a choice of "categories" where I had an equally difficult time squeezing this log into a box.
 All that's by the by when the main priorities, apart from getting as much sun as possible before tomorrow's return to the Factory, include meeting Lady E's need of the day.
In this, the helping hand was extended by chemist and traveller Kay Stefan Gröninger.
Finding the bloom of the moment is becoming quite a challenge, since while it has to convey the right message, I seek to avoid repeating myself ... and more and more people seem to be caging even their wild flowers with electric copyright fences.
Kay took this picture on that Portuguese island whose rugged beauty I mention again at its peril, since I'd hate to see the place go the way of too many once unspoilt spots.
Just as her silence had me beginning to wonder whether I had, after all, frightened Lady E. off with an overdose of unavoidable fervour, she put paid to my paranoia by explaining that she's been unwell. Hence, in part, the hibiscus.
It's not the first Portuguese connection of the day, because when I dropped in to buy some refreshment for the evening, it was with a heartfelt "O merde!"
"What's up?" asked my Moroccan friend behind the till.
"I didn't spot that ad outside Francis's shop until it's too late," I explained.
My quick-witted friend told me that if I got up to a nearby corner in time I could still get a copy of yesterday's 'Le Figaro', but "run, run, run!"
I did. The kiosk was closing but I bought the right-wing daily, gave it straight back to the vendor and kept the DVD that came with it.
"You don't want the paper?"
"I wouldn't pay a cent for 'Le Figaro', but at that ridiculous price I'd have kicked myself to have missed 'Capitães de Abril', which is a gem."
The newsvendor heartily agreed.
Film-maker and actress Maria de Medeiros (high-class Tomatoes) instantly made the higher end of the Top 50 ranking for both me and Marianne with this only slightly romanticised recent history movie (2000; IMDb) about the Portuguese revolution of 1974.
It's very well acted and as full of humour as suspense.
Carson Jones of New York's favourite line was "Coup d'état! May we come in?", but one of the funniest bits I've not forgotten -- and apparently true, according to a Portuguese friend -- comes as the "April captains" and their armoured column reach Lisbon.
"Why have you stopped?" one nervous young officer asks the tank driver.
"The traffic lights are red."
As for Sam, I know I often say that he surpasses himself, but today's lunch really was one of the best yet and I much regret that Lady E. was too busy catching up with other aspects of life after having "completely wasted my day", the poor lass.
It was one of the rare Sundays when Sam decided to treat any interested parties to a couscous. It smelled wonderful and looked good, but I told Sam that vestiges of the Condition have left me wary of such rich food.
"I promise you that you won't regret it," Sam said, and how right he was. When Baudier arrived at the Canteen at his usual late Sunday hour, I tried to convince him to join us.
"Couscous?" he said, looking almost as gloomy as ever in spite of the wonderful weather. "It's so heavy that it'll put me to sleep for the rest of the afternoon and I've got more of my book to write."
"Not this one," I said. "It's light, delicious and spiced with love and genius."
In vain. André settled for his usual hunk of steak and pasta, while the couscous was kind to my insides and gave me the energy, along with the sun, to walk half across town to one of the prettiest stretches of the Seine, a suitably romantic place to daydream that Lady E. was there with me.
Oh well. There'll always be a next time.
 There's no help for it. I'm lost.
Without serious distractions, I unmentionable think of her from the instant my morning mind is kicked into gear by those wretched pigeons to the moment I drift into sleep and it's too late: she even knows it now.
As for the birds, the one snapped here this morning is generally the first to arrive and the boldest, usually waiting on one of the roofs opposite for me to wake up, but the picture I'll really need patience to get is when two of these sky-rats start their daily fight.
Each considers the windowsill to be their private preserve, so they chase and peck at one another and perform the most comical aerobatics while the others simply ignore them and get on with their breakfast.
I doubt I'll be able to blog very much over the coming week, which will probably be another tough one at the Factory, but I'm grateful for the break I've had.
On getting home from today's long stroll, I'm relieved to note that Africa isn't making any of the main AFP headlines, but other sites tell me I've still got a lot to catch up on.
Anyway, I imagine the Faithful Five ¾ have had enough for a while of the ramblings of a lovesick lunatic...
As a rule, I steer clear of the top 40 topics in the blogosphere, since it seems a waste of time to add my two cents to the same subjects as everybody else, but the arrest of a blogger for writing things the mayor of a Paris suburb would prefer to keep quiet deserves a mention.
Christophe tells his story at MonPuteaux in French, but offers plenty of links to the English blog pick-ups.
More to my taste is the revelation that:
"Swapping spit actually consumes about 336 hours, or 20,160 minutes, of the average person's life. That time could not be possibly spent in a better way. OK, there are a few better ways, but you usually have to kiss to get there anyway" ('Kisstory in action' at La Voz, via Metafilter.
Dana, meanwhile, is waxing: 'What is "feminity"?' (Note-It Posts), which also brings me back to Lady E., since I've had to inform her that if she reminds me of anybody famous, it has to be Uma Thurman...
Even Heli, who often devotes much of 'Heaven and Hell' to spitting acid at some of the world's most dangerous politicians with admirable accuracy, has taken a brief respite to burst into flower. Though if you can make more sense of her cryptic "My Yellow Poppy is Back" than I can, do let me know.
As usual, I'm probably hoping for mysteries where there aren't any...
More flowers? Try this before I turn back into a pumpkin:
"It was a moonlight nite outside and Bibo was going for a stroll around the Bag ENd garden. He loved the garden wit its cloying scents its rich fruits, its heralds of madness, its delicate blossoms, its wild and rare flowers and blossoms - its chrisanthenums, roses, poppies, gardeenias, carnatiosn, foxglove, orcids, labias daisies, and pretty berries. It was like an earthly paradise, a palimpsest of scent and dizzying beauty, it was as though God had tumbled his marvels upon the barren earth where each had sprung up with shots of lightt o create some delicate flowerheaveny as sin
'Sigh' Bilbo sighed and moaned 'Its a tragedy that on this night I should be so lonley, how now I long for a lady love, a woman to set me alight, to hold my hand in times of need, to flush crimson and scarlet if i where to whipser sweet nothings into her ear, a woman as fair as elfs, and as deep as wter, lol sigh.'"
I know the feeling.
Though the rest of 'A Troubled Widsh' from 'sTrawberry fics' leaves me panting for more.
Well. Almost.
10:25:45 PM link 
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