Bonfire Night.

Fire

Well I swear I've never been so cold  in  all my life.  Even the lavender and lemon balm liquid soap on my kitchen windowsill has iced up. And you know why? Because for all intents and purposes it is Bonfire Night and someone in parliment rings up God on Bommie night and insists that he brings on Winter pretty damn quick so we can all shiver in snuggly gloves as we waft sparklers about, eat cinder toffee and watch the world explode.

In Alison world, it has, I must admit been a scrummily (yes I made that word up!) delicious kind of Saturday, not without mishap or the occasional bout of toddler misery but yummy all the same...

As is his peculiar wont on a weekend, Finley slept in this morning and we woke to a toasty warm house, had maya gold hot chocolate, toast and tangerines for breakfast, and then layered ourselves in thermals and braved the world outside our door. The very frozen world outside our door: a car with iced up windows and early chamelia buds delicately frosted with the kind of air you can see turn to ice in front of you.

We got going: Robbie being rude on my stereo and Finley chirping on about Doctor Who in the background. All seemed well. And then I ran out of petrol. As you do. Because I am irrationally girly about petrol stations and avoid them with my life. So I got out, carried the baby, the petrol can, my bag, purse and mobile phone to the garage, filled it up, lugged it all back in silly shoes, and then got us on our way, stupidly peased with myself for not ringing  my Dad or flagging down a passing  stanger.

In a  world is my oyster kind of way  I  wandered off  the beaten path to buy  titchy little pain au chocolate in a local farm shop, and a bundle of dried lavender in the gloriously gorgeous lavender farm I've been meaning to visit for a lifetime. Then drove to Mecca (Waitrose) to load up a trolley with delicacies nobody needs, had a vanilla latte in a snuggly coffee shop, and then got back in the car to drive to the Squirrel reserve to feed squirrels too stupid to have gone into hibernation yet, and to Finley's delight, roll down leafy hills  and then run back up them as fast as we could. Still in silly shoes. With a blue snotty nose and the numbest toes in the history of feet. 

Then it was Mummy time. A quick whizz up the motorway and we were in Border's grinning in delight as the man behind the counter winked at me as he shoved seven complimentary bars of Green and Blacks milk chocolate into my two carrier bags full of magazines (Oh the joy of December Vogue!!)  and the first Christmas present I've got round to buying this year.

And then home. To a bowl of steaming hot beetroot and ginger soup and a Scooby doo cartoon, snuggling in preparation for freezing in front of fireworks for the rest of the night...

As soon as it goes dark,  I will  wrap Finley up like a  baby Michelin man, take a tray of hot milk  and slices  of  Kaths Dad's apples dipped in cinnamon chocolate into the garden, with some blankets and a whole lot of candles and shiver with Finn as we watch the neighbours spectacular firework display, hands over our ears and eyes wide with wonder.

And then in for bedtime stories and the peace of the childfree zone that is evening time. A plate of black pudding and chorizo. An aloe vera salty bath, and then into clothes warm and glamorous enough to slip back into the garden and join the grown up's at the bonfire for toffee apples and warm red wine, before coming home to snuggle up in a quilt and stare in wonder at the unspeakably lovely, fiery Autumnal bouquet of eucalyptus and orange and yellow lily's I found on my doorstep when I came home last night...

Bonfire night bliss.

(Lordy was that my diet we just saw go up in smoke??)