There’s been some scrambling on the beach today, which is the start of the winter sport programme that takes place on the last Sunday in the month.
It’s always well attended, and the beach cafes are flat-out providing breakfasts, lunches, teas and coffees so it’s good for the town’s business.
However, it finished hours ago, is six pm, blowing a hoolle (variant spellings hooley, hoolie), about to chuck it down with rain, and some idiot has decided to let fireworks off.
Maggie had been restless for a few minutes beforehand, and now with the whizz, bangs and pops going off around us, all is explained.
Last year, we had fireworks every weekend from around now until the middle of January and practically every night from Nov 1st to 7th. The pitch is such to worry Maggie, even though she is going deaf, so the den under the bed is ready for her to hide in, and we have the music on standby to try and help pacify her.
Oh how I wish someone would invent a silent spectacular firework.