Many years ago, I was given an old copy of J B Priestley's 1951 collection of essays "Delight". Having previously dismissed him as a preachy old playright and one of the many useful idiots of the post war period, it was a surprise and, in fact, a complete delight to read his pithy and luminous celebrations of some of the good things in life. Here's the very first essay:

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Fountains. I doubt if ever I saw one, even the smallest, without some tingling of delight. They enchant me in the daytime, when the sunlight ennobles their jets and sprays and turns their scattered drops into diamonds. Read More...