Well, it certainly feels like it at the moment.
The local pub are having their annual fireworks display, which is a thinly veiled excuse for selling second rate beer in plastic glasses in front of a bonfire that's one step removed from being a wicker man whilst setting off fireworks that make windows rattle and set off car alarms through the neighbourhood. The local gumbies take this as an excuse for living dangerously and think nothing of standing in the middle of the road to get a better view of the bangs and explosions.
I've just got back from visiting the fantabulosa juno_februa in hospital where she is nervously awaiting various *procedures* that involve cameras and places where the sun don't shine. She was on fine form, which is more than could be said for the poor old dear in the bed at the end of the ward who was calling for a nurse to take her for a wee for ages, and had apparently spent the previous night shouting "Richard! Where's the fish!". The joys of the NHS, I suppose.
Home now for beans and mini sausages on toast followed by a cup of freshly ground Santos and Java. Yum.
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