The big barn is being re-roofed with the rotten battens left on by the last cowboy slaters replaced. The slates were always fine it was the cheapskate refuse to buy new battens that has caused the latest programme. The upside is that I had an awful lot of old dry wood on hand and the kids and I pretty quickly made an 8 foot bonfire. On top of the wood is the creeping plants that invade my garden from two of our neighbours which were cut down a few weeks ago and dried inside a barn.
The net result was that the fire went up like a candle, I served up mulled wine with a real kick and a Portuguese three pork and bean stew for a few friends and their kids and even the Mrs admitted to having fun.
This year there was no guy on top of the pile but after years of trying my cat Quincey last week finally caught a squirrel. Its savaged body was at the heart of the fire, a ceremonial guy. We have in years gone buy had a political villain of a guy. This year It was agreed that the dead squirrel, a professional Northerner of little brain was called Andy
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