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Yellow is a favourite colour of mine. I have many favourites, so maybe that’s not saying much, but I do love the sunshiney glow of these ‘Moulineaux’ roses.  I have six kinds of yellow roses in the garden, the front door is yellow and there is an amazing yellow felt wall hanging (made by a clever friend) in the front entrance.

And this year, for the first time in my adult life, I feel like wearing yellow. I know, I know, my comprehensive collection of Melbourne black clothing is cringing at the indignity of sharing wardrobe space with anything so gaudy as yellow. I mean, yellow, my dear, so bright and vulgar. What are we, a kindergarten teacher?

Well suck it up, Melbourne black, it feels good to go bright for a change. Mind you, with all this brave talk, I have to admit that clear bright yellow is not for me to wear. I have to dirty it up a bit; mustard or gold or even chartreuse work well with my pale and freckly skin.

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