My mother had very strong opinions about what colour clothes I could wear.
I was attracted to bright oranges and maybe even puce but her response was always “People will see you coming in that!” Perhaps she was expressing her idea that children were generally a nuisance and should be neither heard nor seen.
I only learned this month that my little sister also had similar colour battles. Mum told her that her complexion meant that she couldn’t possibly ever wear red. Mum said, “Jane can, but you’ll look ill in red.”
Both of us now love wearing the brightest colours.
Maybe this revolutionary streak explains why I so enjoy the colours of the tropics. Locals wear such vibrant clothes, often in colour combinations that my mother would have said should never be worn together: definitely no orange with pink or apple-green with purple.
The ends of tropical days can be gorgeous but sunrises and sunsets are always over too soon, and during waking hours the landscape can be bleached, dusty and monotonous – robbed of dawn hues and rosy sundowns.
Perhaps the people of warmer climes love wearing clashing colours, sparkly garments and shades that my mother would have judged as unacceptable, as a rebellion against elements that sap away colour and rob the landscape of its ebullience.
