Wet. Chips, washed down with a quantity of cheap pink wine. Enjoyed amongst friends at gate-crashed Di's, with a riotous, and very hilarious, impromptu game of.... Scrabble.
Dry. Probably best too. Never learnt to say no, and I end up on stage at the Norwich Beer Festival playing with a band I've never met but an hour before. Loads of lovely real ales, nothing but a name on the end of a barrel to me. No matter - I was high enough without the need for Oatmeal Stout, Barley Wine, or cider.
Wet. Moving borrowed Chevy pickup loads of horrid sticky leylandii branches in all their never ceasing greenery. In the rain. From my parent's place to a sprawling bonfire in the making, for the celebration of burning Catholics and not politicians next weekend.
Dry. Back indoors. Apple and jalepeno chutney simmering. Into the making of big Sunday tea. Apple crumble again, roast spuds, a cashew, pepper and vegetable pie. Livened up with some Jamacian jerky sauce... Broke out the water jug, kids two pints dry!
Wet. Drizzly evening. Cleared up, looked out, first winter clock changed, dark, dark night. Little lonely tear. But lovely, lovely weekend. Guess I was just sad it came to an end. And so. Weary to bed.
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