Parades and processions...

I can never resist alliteration ... but in fact this is just a short item on Amsterdam's Gay Parade.
Which has turned into yet another excuse for some people to make a few extra cents ... selling beer, balloons and fast food...
There was not simply a parade of boats with exotically-dressed individuals, singing and dancing.
It seemed as if people had poured in from all corners of the Netherlands and other countries too, to take part in this extravaganza.
I spent as little time as possible walking along Prinsengracht, the scene of ear-deafening pounding  which I hesitate to term music (it wasn't). As the day progressed it became packed with folk who had drunk too much and and grew out of control, some spewing on the front steps of the houses where they happened to be, or sniffing crack (I suppose?) and generally making me feel sad that so many (young) people apparently thought this was a fun way to celebrate ... Because it is worth celebrating that we live in a country where one is not persecuted, imprisoned or viciously treated because one's appearance or sexual preference is not in line with the voice of the majority.
Ah well... here a couple of pix I took in central Amsterdam on the stretch of canal between Spiegelgracht and Vijzelgracht.
The next day (Sunday) much of the mess was cleared away, leaving only broken glass and countless strips of coloured paper confetti.

The first photo below is looking across the Spiegelgracht canal: comparatively unpopulated!

Below: there are so many people on the boats on this stretch of Prinsengracht, that no water is to be seen...

There are usually only two days per year when Amsterdam loses its head; one is for this Parade; the other is on the birthday of the monarch, now known as King's Day.
This event has greatly changed since I first came to the Netherlands, almost 50 years ago.
Like so much,  it has been taken over by money-grubbers. No longer can little children play their wooden recorders on the street corner and earn a few cents for their performance.
Commerce strides along the streets and small voices are crushed in the din. (Hm, I suspect that's a mixed metaphor, but I needed to have my moan!)

But here is another view: home-grown flowers and vegetables from somewhere on the Utrechtse Heuvelrug, where the owners try to cultivate their land without poisonous pesticides. With thanks to my friend Machteld for the photos.

Happiness in a garden; time to read the poet Andrew Marvell some more.
What wondrous life is this I lead
Ripe apples drop about my head...