Fireworks

It's weird to think that this time last year was the only big event in my calender back then. I'm not saying I'm massively party-driven these days or anything, but there have definitely been more days I'd like to remember since the beginning of June than there were in the previous three years.

This year the main attraction wasn't the usual, it wasn't the fireworks. This year's attraction was the chance to catch up with people I hadn't seen for a long time and scoff down jacket potatoes. Most of those people were church-goers from my old church, the one I no longer attend except occasionally at Christmas.

I always remember, when I visit events like this, why I thoroughly dislike going to them. Those friends of my parent's who know all about me yet somehow still seem to want to know how I'm doing. Half of them, I know, just want to compare me to their own kids, and the other half are just trying to seem interested for god knows what reason. As thrilling as these moments are, I hate that little panic that goes on inside me when people ask how my course is going at uni, and especially when they ask what I'll do after. As soon as I tell them I don't know yet I see their faces drop, as if they think I've already thrown my life away. I know what they're thinking too, but there's more to going to uni than getting a job after. I went to uni to learn about writing, I like doing it. As far as I'm concerned I am going so I can become better at my passion. I consider it money well spent.

Mark also came up in conversation a couple of times under titles like "Mediterranean boyfriend" and "your guy in Malta". I guess my parents have been bragging about Mark, they approve of him. This is also a very good thing, especially considering he's visiting so much in the next few months and I am again to be trusted into his care when I go back over in January.

Other than that, spending time talking to people within the same age band (or near enough) as me was fun. It's amazing how much I have in common with some of them, despite the fact that they have children/jobs/are in their 30s. They don't ask what I'm up to, because they're still at an age where they remember what it was like.

The fireworks, of course, weren't that great, very few of them even made me look up. Exploding chemicals were never really my thing, despite the four years before this one. The ones in Malta near the end of my visit were far better, made that way because of the company and the fact that I could stand on a balcony in just a dressing gown being embraced while watching. Fireworks are far better when you're being cuddled by the one you love.

It seems weird to think that this day is in memory of failed terrorism. I mean I guess it was a supposed warning to those would-be terrorists. Still, it seems a strange thing to celebrate in the grand scheme of holidays. Not that it's international of course. Imagine if he had managed to blow up the houses of parliament though. What would have happened? Would there be new ones? What about the parliamentary members? I mean, replacing all of them over night would be a hell of a task.

Anyway.
The bangs still go on, the wind still blows, and my bed is oh so comfy.

Later readers.