burn up

About twice a year, my neighbour cuts down the trees the kids climb and use to catcall from at his 80 year old mother with comments on the cut and colour of her bloomers on the washing line, causing a very upright and respectable old lady enormous upset.

Tonight's the night for one of the biannual bonfires in the carpark, and my dead kitchen has been requisitioned to feed the flames. Heading over there in a minute with the bottle of vino for an impromptu community fire, without the sing-song.

Actually, I think Richard just likes fires.