The good citizens of the village of Thriplow are uncommonly fond of daffodils. Every wayside, byway, front garden, backyard, highway and hedgerow is adorned by them. There's even a variety of the flower (Thriplow Gold) named after the village.
They claim to have planted over half-a-million bulbs, and over the last fifty years they've raised almost half-a-million pounds for charity by organising The Thriplow Daffodil Weekend, when up to 14,000 people invade this quiet backwater to enjoy music, dancing, locally produced food, country crafts, antique vehicles, horse-drawn cart rides, funfairs, a few beers and, of course, the display of daffodils.
Over the years they've had a remarkable record for organising the event to coincide with both the peak flowering season and some pleasant spring weather. This year however things went badly wrong as it snowed on the cheerful blooms. Which is why I waited till yesterday to cycle there and take some photographs.
But what's this?
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