Some Like It Hot

No fireworks that I know of planned for this evening's pre 'Guy Fawkes Night' night at our house, but here's a photo at least of the small bonfire in our bedroom at Martin and Angela's this morning. Not that there isn't traditional heating, because there is (underfloor heating) but MrsB always loves a tropical climate, and there is no such thing in her Maldivian vocabulary as "too hot" (well there is, but "vwara huunu" means too chilli-hot).

I lit the wood-burning stove this morning at 6 when I woke. I then got back into bed to sleep some more. The flickering light and crackling of the fire in the dark room was fantastic.

Very sad to leave our friends at lunchtime today to drive home. We dragged it out a little longer though as Martin came along for the ride north too. He wanted to visit his parents in Bolton, as his mum Anne is quite poorly. I drove him over, and popped-in to say hello and have a quick brew.

Great day for the football today of course, with Arsenal beaten 2:1. Still no news from Swansea on the contract front, but at least I see their football team got a late late equaliser against Chelsea this afternoon - and this sent us top of the Premiership. City drawing with West Ham means we can stay there for a while now at least.

Postscript: Annoyed with myself looking back on this, as I missed the obvious football connection today with Martin's mum Anne who played football with her twin sister for both Bolton Ladies (it may have been Preston Ladies so I need to check) as well as for the England Ladies national football team in (again I think) late 40s and/or early 50s. How amazing is that?

I was also amazed to find there is a fascinating and illustrated history of women and football going back to the 19th century. Please check it out here. What amazingly strong women.

There is also a strong connection through Martin's dad Cyril and brothers to Bolton Wanderers FC, which my dad liked because he was a Boltonian born and raised. My first memory of football as a kid is being taken by my dad to their old Burnden Park ground around 1965 and being lifted over the picket fence for safety and to sit on the touchline (He never took me to see Manchester United play, which was always a teasing bone of contention between us)