Remember, remember, the fifth of November
Gunpowder, treason and plot.
I see no reason why Gunpowder Season
Should ever be forgot.
Well, poor Griff does – and I daresay that Nell will too. The island’s community bonfire is actually on Saturday night. We shan’t be going, much as we enjoy fireworks, because Griff most certainly does not. He’s terrified of strange noises at any time but anything reminiscent of a gun just scares him witless. Frankly, you can’t even rustle a paper bag without his jumping out of his skin.
When we lived in the Lowther Hills, Griff came to live with us in late October. We had no idea what a wuss he was until Bonfire Night rolled around. It was a very small village, with less than a handful of young children. Bonfire Night was a very low key event but we did hear one Roman Candle burning low down in the village – a faint and distant whoooooooosh, to our ears at least. Griff leapt straight onto my lap and quivered helplessly… you might imagine what he was like when August 12th rolled around… He has been lucky since moving here in that weather has ruled out the bangs in November, though he has virtual kittens when farmers try to scare flocks of geese away.
Nell is even worse – although she has yet to be tested by fireworks. Let’s face it, a dog that is scared of her own farts is not likely to take rockets very much in her stride…
So, no firework celebrations on the Windswept Acre, and we’ll be staying home to keep an eye on the furry brood for the next few nights. But before that, we need to sort out some wood and take it down to the Brickie Hut as our contribution to the flames.
I’m busy today, but I’d like to find time to make some toffee… it’s a bit late for the Parkin. Jacket spuds, anyone?