‘It’s a good year for daisies,’ said my husband, looking up from the Daily Telegraph and casting an eye over the grass outside the window.
‘It’s a good year for daisies,’ said my husband, looking up from the Daily Telegraph and casting an eye over the grass outside the window. He’d learnt the fact from the former, though he might have noticed it in the latter. I’m not sure there has been a bad year for daisies in the past few centuries. In the late 1380s Chaucer wrote: ‘Of al the floures in the mede,/ Thanne love I most these floures white and rede,/ Suche as men called daysyes.’
Now, I have had some experience of daisies since the days that I used to make them into chains while waiting to bat at rounders, and I am well aware that they are yellow, not red.
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