Remember, Remember the 5th of November:Fireworks & Festivities

Last night was no less than our most random British celebration.

Bonfire night/Guy Fawkes night.

Yes, that cheery celebration of catching those crafty catholic conspirators who plotted to blow up the Houses of Parliament with gunpowder way back in 1605 when frankly gunpowder was the best option you had for attempting to blow up British government or anything else really.

That Guy Fawkes fella was the chief conspirator and so therefore greedily gains all the glory by having the whole evening named after him.

Luckily their plans were foiled and they had the pleasure of death by being hung, drawn and quartered. (The good ole days were fun, right?)

So in memory of the occasion us Brits unite for some Fireworks and of course generally food.

When I was a kid (forever ago) we used to make our own Guy's out of old tights and clothing stuffed with newspaper and fling him on the bonfire during the nights festivities, you know, just for fun.

Bonfire night has had mixed reviews from our kids thus far. Year one at 10 months Thomas was enthralled and delighted, Year two he was terrified and Eli was oblivious, Year 3 we decided to skip it entirely (which is practically treasonous behaviour) and this year we just planned to attend our church shindig which some bright spark (no pun intended) had arranged for Friday night.

Friday night is 2 days too late for Bonfire night.

But we figured we could get away with it because fireworks have been sporadically going off now for weeks and fortunately our kids are too young to pay any kind of attention to a calendar. Phew!

Alas I didn't take into account that both playgroup and school would be whipping them into a fireworks night frenzy yesterday (thanks for that British educational system) Thomas came bounding out all over excited that today was the big day and we could have a bonfire and fireworks.

I explained that we were having ours on Friday instead at church with all his friends. He reacted like I just told him Santa doesn't exist coupled with a future without TV.

Yes, that badly.

Fast forward a few hours and we were in the in laws garden. Rob had been to Tesco to get us some family friendly fireworks. (I have to admit all fireworks are spoiled forever to me now. Having spent 4th of July at Disney's Magic Kingdom nothing can top that. It was seriously firework heaven. Everything else is just a bit lacking in comparison.)

Impressive I know!
One little boy who is thrilled regardless.

So you may recall we have two kids.

One of which practically emotionally blackmailed us into the whole impromptu fireworks fandango.

Where's Thomas you wonder?

Well this will be our firstborn indoor with grandma because after the very first lame firework he announced 'I want to go home now!' Typical.

So I'll leave you with a cheerful little ditty we used to sing as kids at this time of year,

Guy, Guy, Guy,
Poke him in the eye,
Put him on the Bonfire and let him die.

Charming, no?

Encounters of the Welsh Kind

Once upon a time there was a Grandad and a Grandma,

5 (of their 8 Children) and their spouses,

13 of their Grandchildren and 1 Spouse (that would be me)

and 2 of their Great Grandchildren

and they all went to Llanwrst (pronounced Lan-roost) in North Wales for a week and stayed in farmhouses like these,

In the middle of nowhere, with just sheep and cows for neighbours.


And the sun shone gloriously all week long.

So now in my mind Wales has finally redeemed itself, despite the simply crazy welsh language. In almost every language I have encountered (which isn't all that many if I am completely honest but enough to make this valid point) the word Taxi translates as Taxi, not so in Welsh though.

Oh no, they have to be different.

In Welsh it's Tacsi (isn't this an educational post already?) The word for school? Translates as Ysgol. I kid you not. The Welsh language defies all logic and reason.

But still despite my endless issue with the Welsh language I am now fully embracing my heritage and am happy to admit that I am in fact 1/4 Welsh. A fact that until recently I wasn't so happy to share.

We enjoyed ice cream........

and beach strolls.......

and tea cup rides......

and trips to the Zoo.

(Doesn't that goat just look like he's thinking 'Oh kid, puh-leaze don't touch me!')

I learned that boys could throw rocks into the sea for hours on end if given the opportunity without ever getting the teensiest bit bored! That includes fully grown up adult boys too.
Thomas adored the dingy at the beach and we all had to stifle a laugh when Grandad climbed in to join him and promptly fell straight back out.
The scenery was as beautiful as my boys!





Eli learned that throwing sand ceases to be hilarious when you end up with a spadeful in your wide open from laughing hysterically mouth.
The bravest in our bunch gave white water rafting a try,
and loved it!

And we all lived happily ever after because the kids were so exhausted from all their fun and sunshine that they could hardly keep their eyes open!

THE END

Oh and if you're wondering where all the pictures of me are, there are none. (Note to Rob:Start taking pictures so that if I were to die unexpectedly by being suffocated by a never ending mountain sized pile of our laundry or some other similar fate our children would have some recollection of what I look liked beyond our wedding pictures).