It's the Fifth of November, Bonfire Night. We don't say Guy Fawkes Night so much here in Scotland, we say Bonfire Night. I wonder if it's because of some old forgotten pagan fire festival at this time of year, one that I don't know about? I must Google for this one day.
Anyway, we're not actually doing anything special tonight. It is tipping it down with rain, absolute stair rods bouncing off the pavement. I know this because Hubby left the car lights on and I had to trail up the road to where it was parked and turn them off, after a neighbour phoned to tell me. Hubby is down at the pub, the cats are asleep in the warmest parts of the house and Princess and I are watching the fireworks out the window. One advantage of Chez Fishwife is that it's built on top of a hill and on three floors, so we can see lots of fireworks. From the attic we can see clear to Edinburgh and the big city centre displays, from the front we can see our own local Council display (not at all bad, really, and on a clear night we can hear the sound track too) and then up in the hills we can see the higher rockets from the smaller village displays. Given the monsoon weather it's the best seat in town, nearly, and we have home made pizza and soup to boot.
Oh, where's Lad? Out with his mates down at the fireworks? Well I'm sure he'd like to be but the poor soul has rugby training tonight. They have one of the most important matches of the season coming up on Sunday and they have to show commitment, you know. Ye Gawds. Rugby training on Bonfire Night? That's cruel!