Last night was the fireworks and bonfire down at the Bught Park, next to the river. I wasn't going to go, partly because it is just an excuse for neds to play with fire (ironic, when they wear shellsuits, the most flamable clothing known to man) but also because it is not really a Scottish event. Guy fawked up his attack on Westminster before the union of the parliaments and thus before Scotland and England were politically one. Therefore it was an assault on the English parliament only and quite why Scotland celebrates it is something I'm not sure about.But pedantry was put aside when some friends invited me down. And it was really good – loads of folk were there, and the fireworks display was spectacular. Lots of colour, exciting bangs and whooshes and whizzes, and just generally an extravaganza of onomatopoeia. Then it was on to town for a pint or two.
As a result I didn't make it to church this morning (after five Sunday mornings on the trot!) but I was there this evening, and it was really good. It was our monthly youth service, which besides the mercifully shorter sermon means a focus on what the youth bring to the church. One part of that involves an interview with one of the "volunteers" press-ganged into helping at the youth fellowship, and tonight was me. Chris, our youth worker, managed to wangle mullets into the interview, and when I explained my mission a rather confused silence befell the church as it dawned on everyone that there was a nutter in their midst. I managed to survive the service without everyone laying hands on me, though, and Chris even gave my website a wee plug.
So anyone from church who's reading this… hello!