Well it’s been a hunkering-down-for-winter sort of weekend. Saturday was Bonfire Night, of course*:-
(*For the benefit of non-UK readers, this is when we commemorate the attempt in 1605 by an enterprising but treasonous chap called Guy Fawkes and several of his bezzies to blow up the Houses Of Parliament using barrel-loads of gunpowder. The plot was foiled, and poor Guy Fawkes got a proper telling-off (and executed). We mark this occasion annually by lighting fireworks and by setting fire to stuff, including effigies of Fawkes himself, although given that he lived in those dark ages that pre-dated Facebook, most of us aren’t quite certain what he looked like. He is generally assumed to have sported some impressive millinery: don’t pretend that you wouldn’t want a hat like this:-)
We took the twinnage to the village fireworks display, wearing all of our knitwear at once. (Let me tell you that the ‘Thermal‘ jumper is very warm, what with all that air-trapping waffle stitch that took eleventy million hours to knit.)
Wow! Fireworks! Some of them look almost floral in these shots, a bit like Dan Bennett’s fabulously stylized flora paintings that I’ve mentioned before.
The weekend continued with the twinnage helping the Stoic Spouse make the Christmas cake, whilst I scurried off to Oxford for a haircut. (It’s been nearly two years since the last one: I am deeply un-fond of haircuts, so I was slightly sulking at this colossal waste of time.) What on earth could I do to pass the time on the bus to Oxford? Oh hang on, I know:-
I arrived stupidly early, so went for a wander around Christ Church Meadow, cos there’s nothing like a spot of hypothermia to kick-start your weekend. All was pretty, as is its wont:-
I made a friend:-
These days I don’t go into the centre of Oxford much, but the place feels like a kind of lodestone because so much of my adult life has happened there: studying, working, more studying, parties, relationships, first flat, meeting the Stoic Spouse. There isn’t a street or a pub or a view that doesn’t have some kind of memory attached. In autumn especially, it’s easy to feel nostalgic for student days, which is a bit stupid because I don’t especially want to go back to being a cash-strapped socially-awkward 18-year-old with terrible dress-sense, who wouldn’t say boo to a goose. (I still wouldn’t say boo to a goose: geese are mean. But these days, I would say boo to a person.) So on this occasion, after being relieved of most of my hair, I wasn’t too regretful to leave Oxford and head back to my 43-year-old life in the village.
By the time I got home to the brewery, it was mightily chilly, so we were glad to see the log-man arrive to deliver this lot. The twinnage helped me to stack it:-
…Which naturally led on to this:-
…and more knitting, of course, but you’d probably already guessed that.
Not a bad weekend, in all. How was yours?