I shall not sleep well tonight, despite the bottle of gooseberry wine. Outside is a cacophony of whistles and explosions as fireworks detonate two days early. Based on previous years, this is likely to continue until past midnight. I am a miserable old bugger.
Today has mostly been good, though, with much of it taken up in Bingley collecting my bassoon from its annual service. The evening meal was fabulous, and called for the sharp, crisp flavours of gooseberry wine. Claire cooked a fish pie that was so hot it caused me to spit my first two mouthfuls onto the plate - the second time with gagging sound effects. It took me some time to convince her that I actually was enjoying her food.