Driving back from Birmingham was intense. For someone who only learnt to drive recently, I sure am getting in some serious driving experience.
I drove back to Marmaduke's house for a fireworks party. I love fireworks. Deep childhood memories surface of houses full of friends and food. Barriers made from rabbit hutches holding excited children brave enough to be outside. Whilst dads light fireworks at arms length vertically, not horizontally.
Little children's faces lit by sodium pressed against the glass of upstairs bedrooms. Sparklers. Mulled wine. Shouting out the colour of the next rocket before it explodes.
I think some of my love of hosting parties come from these memories.
Certainly, they say you marry someone like your dad. Watching Tom setting off 4 fireworks at a time with Luke, I certainly saw echoes of Dad's pyrotechnic glee.
Marmers had us safely ensconced on a terrace overlooking a sunken lawn and so the fireworks felt like they were exploding at eye level.
Then it was time for jacket potatoes, drinks and chatter. Cosy and happy.