Good evening from my lonely tower in the midst of no man's land as the WWI re-enactment goes on and on and on outside . . .
I come to you sore of sole and soul after an exceptionally long and tiring day in Bury, and in which, for the fifth day running, I got drizzled upon like a rather large and ungainly lemon cake, with untimely precipitation . . . still, I am back and, despite the constant shelling and bombardment, I am trying to chill and relax and - soon it has to be said - drift off to bobo land.
We are quite fortunate that Sal isn't the type of dog who gets unduly worried by the explosions and screeches otherwise it would be a total instead of partial nightmare, she is made of sterner stuff but I do feel for all you people out there who share their lives with four-legged friends . . . actually, how do horses react? I know that I've experienced first-hand an amazing levitating stallion who, upon seeing a road sign that it must have walked past every day of its life, suddenly took exception to it one day and leaped with all four feet in the air! I was just behind in a car and, being somewhat familiar with the eccentricities of equines, was fortunately out of horse-on-bonnet-distance! I do have friends who have horses - hope they're okay people!
It's not as if tonight is it; it has been going on all week and will for most of next I suppose . . . at the risk of appearing in my true guise as curmudgeon of the village, I have to say it really wasn't like that in my day! The first we heard of it was about a week beforehand when the famous "Light up the sky with Standard fireworks" ad would play on the few black & white tv's around . . . I used to change "the sky" to "your dad" - even then I had a vicious streak! It would inevitably rain and the poor collection of rubbish I'd got together would steam and poot until judicious helpings of paraffin got events under way. I didn't really care for bangers; I was more a roman candle sort . . . Catherine wheels never worked and aeroplanes always sought out the nearest neighbour to dive-bomb - which was quite handy!
And writing those names really brings the true meaning home; Roman candle, Catherine Wheel; it really is about burning the pope and his agents, though people have obviously paid little heed to "Remember, Remember" . . . a different story soon though when I will be paying my yearly tribute in loco pater at the cenotaph on Remembrance Sunday. The sheer number of all those fallen and, let's not beat about the bush here, smashed, burned, dismembered and mentally destroyed by wars goes to prove what a foolish lot we really are.
We destroy when we could create and use our greatest talents finding new and more efficient ways to kill each other . . . oh hum!
There appears to be a lull in the shelling; I'm off to curl up in the foxhole - well, terrier dugout really I suppose - and wait for the glorious new dawn . . .
'til next time
Be Seeing you !