At six last night I was off two doors down to the park for Guy Fawkes night. It was a pleasant interlude, quite peaceful – something the latter afternoon had not been. For some reason local bumble bees decided that being inside out of the sun was an excellent idea, and in the last three hours before I left for our Guy Fawkes evening I had to catch and evict nine of them. I say ‘have to,’ since each time one came in, Thunder arrived in the bedorom, landed on me wailing, and demanded I remove this unwanted visiter – severely interrupting my revision of the latest fantasy novel that I wanted to get done by the end of the weekend.
Somewhere in there I forgot to feed the poultry, all of whom arrived on the doorstep and announced immanent starvation molto voce. Between feeding them, collecting their eggs, feeding and soothing Thunder and evicting bumble bees my Saturday afternoon was slightly more hectic than usual. So that later on, being surrounded by people letting off fireworks, offering me cooked sausages, asking what my next article in the paper will be, and selling me raffle tickets, was, as I suspected it would be, almost peaceful in comparison.
And the next friend from the city wo comments how quiet and easy-going life is in the country, is going to be firmly disabused of that!
2 comments
We don’t have Guy Fawkes Night in Australia anymore.Ordinary citizens are no longer allowed to play with fireworks. It is a wonder we are allowed to cook our own sausages. If they decided to bring back Guy Fawkes Night here I am sure the politically correct brigade would have a hissy fit claiming we were being unfair to Catholics. Mind you blowing up a parliament seems to me to be some criminal act and that also goes for the attempt. What ever the hassles of farm life you are compensated somewhat by fresh farm produce. Ah! Fresh eggs! And you know where they came from too!
What a terrific story, Lyn. Gee I’ve love to write a audio drama about your life’s happenings. :)