Missed

Guy Fawkes Night, or Bonfire Night as it's most commonly known, is one of my all-time favourite nights of the year slash traditions from Britain.  So many memories from childhood, and adult hood, spent with freezing feet and numb fingers despite wrapping up in hundreds of layers; burning faces when looking at the bonfire, baltic ones when turned away; long walks from car park to the bonfire site; acheing necks from craning at the fireworks; hot steaming mugs of chocolate topped with cream and marshmallows when we get home to get some warmth back in our bodies... I think every year without fail we have celebrated in some way on bonfire night (or close thereafter) except that one year Toots and I flew back from Paris on the night itself.  Two years before we'd even welcomed our first neice in to the world, but still managed to catch the beach fireworks before visiting time at the hospital.

Even last year with no furniture to speak of and no husband on the same continent, we managed to celebrate.  But this year, well... this week has all been too much: hospital visits, promised movie nights, meal boxes that had barely been touched and really needed used up; and of course the fact that bangers are not readily available.  And, actually, the warmth does not make it feel like bonfire season either.

But do click back on some of the link from years gone by to see all the traditions that we have and love.  And here's a wee photie from our favourite chums in Inverurie who wonderfully carry on even when we can't.

We miss you!!