Two True Blue

You can go all of a blue afternoon without finding the right blue, then two turn up at once, like red busses, one after another.

Warmer Than Hot Water Bottles

I quicken my pace – I’m getting warmer - a car looking almost as blue as its parking space.  The car’s parked next to a tree and the tree’s wrapped in some kind of raffia matting and is supported by wooden stakes - one of which is marked – painted – with a dash of parking-spot-blue paint.

There’s a photograph (a not-wanted poster?) attached to the tree. The photograph depicts the very same tree it’s on/of, except, in the photograph there are two blue bags parked on the grass beneath the tree. The bags are the blue of the parking-space markings – the blue I’m searching for in a car – and they have a red cross through them, banning blue bag parking in blue parking spaces. First they ban hot water bottles in doorways, now this! What is it with the Swiss?  

Hot Water Bottle Ban

As I neared the city centre I came upon a doorway banning hot water bottles: two blue bottles stuck to the floor, one of the blue bottles the blue I was searching for in a car.

Blue In The Face

Wrong blue: car in relation to parking space. Right blue: parking space to blue in the face (of the head in the background).

Almost Blue

I step off a green tram onto a blue bike. The blue of the bike is the exact hue of blue of the car I’m searching for: the blue of the chalk - that is the bike - is the exact shade of blue used (painted) to define the parking spaces. But I’m in a park, not a parking space. On exiting the park I’m once again forced to photograph a car that’s hue of blue is closer to, but still not true to the blue of its parking space. 

Weighing Machine Impersonating A Golf Green

Near some empty blue parking spaces I come across a bed sleeping next to a weighing machine: a weighing machine impersonating a golf green? I weigh myself - 62kgs - it works! But it’s the wrong kind of green – the grass is greener, so I carry on down the strasse, but before I encounter my next blue car (in a blue bay) I’m overcome with nostalgia for golf (even though I’ve never hit a ball). I return to the weighing machine, jump up and down on the springy bed beside it: I’m a golf ball bouncing on a trampoline. Then, like a golf ball pitching on a green - I score a hole-in-one - I land the weighing machine, sending the scales off the scale. I leave them forever fixed on 40kgs.

I continue with a bounce in my step. I’ve been destructive, now let’s be constructive, and in no time at all I spy another blue car parked in a blue spot. But (yet again) it’s the wrong kind of blue... it's almost green, but the wrong kind of green, too. 

The Blues