King of the road

A park, a glorious spring day, people picnicking, some playing guitar, Punch and Judy. Enjoyment.

Dutch pipes and drums. Jig and reel. A large chess set, three giants.

Black headscarves, orange fancy hats.

A couple walking hand-in-hand, having an argument. She: "You know I really hate it when you get blind drunk". He remained silent. Like William. Perhaps? He held onto her hand, whatever.

Bicycles. Thousands of them. A cycling monarchy. So they say.

A castle! Bouncy.

Big screens.
Gold-rimmed spectacles. Then real gold, diamonds, tiaras, sumptuous Royal blue silk.
Ermine. Skinned alive. Apparently.
Orange t-shirts with slogans.

Big screens. Geert Wilders appears. A sharp intake of breath. So help me, God.
Inaudible whispers. Soon dispersed.

Bach. Beautiful, beautiful, wonderful Bach. A choir of angels. So it seemed.

Back in town, busy, rammed full. A stage here, a stage there, thump, thump, thump went the music.

A girl, to the left of the photo, dressed in red, white and blue. A hint of orange in her hair. Coronation of a king.
A boy, jumping the fountain, holding his breath, giving us the illusion of floating on air. Poetry in motion.

King of the road

Here are a few more photos.