remember, remember...

Bonfire Night in Perth. Picture the scene - a hoooooooomungous bonfire, 8 million Perthites (at least), £700,000,000 spent on fireworks (at least), excitement, awe, wonder.

And the shows.

Does Arlo give two hoots about the fireworks? Does he gives a rats ass? A monkey's flunkey? Or does he want to go into the Fairyland Castle or whatever the hell it was called (aka the inside of a lorry's trailer, somehow miraculously clinging together by gaffa tape, rust and fairy dust - a couple of balls nicked from a recent expedition to Clown Around, a staircase cobbled together from shoe boxes, 800 children all running away from the scary carney lady with the sovvie rings and me, completely stuck between two iron poles trying to get Arlo's head de-wedged out of a window the size of a Big Mac box all for the thieving bloody price of £4).

Yeah. He wanted to go on the fairy castle thing. I was so traumatised by the time I got out of it that when Arlo declared he wanted another go I sent my poor Mother up with him. By the time they both got out even Arlo decided it was a bit dangerous. I considered taking him for a tetanus jab after that.

Ooft.

Anyway. I enjoyed the fireworks, even if my ungrateful offspring did not. Arlo was fair taken with his cool light saber / saver doo-dah (I suppose one day I will have to find out what those shiny stick things from Star Wars are really called...)