Remember remember the 5th of November.

It's that time of year again. The nights are drawing in slowly, you can see your breath in the air and everyone knows someone who can tell you how many days, hours, minutes, seconds and breaths it is until Christmas. It's no secret, I kind of hate this time of year. Minus Christmas, obviously. But the cold, dark nights, the need to wear four layers to leave the house or risk a limb falling off in the northern arctic conditions. So, tonight is the anniversary of the day the infamous Guy Fawkes plotted to blow up the Houses of Parliament in a scheme we know now as The gunpowder plot. He's didnt succeed and somehow we're supposed to celebrate that by setting off tonnes of fireworks eccellerating into the sky and throwing 'guy' dummies onto raging bonfires. Isn't tradition funny? 

Well, today looks miserable through my eyes. Dull rainy day, puddles ruining my beloved Uggs and my already questionable morning hair. I've been up at six and already am commuting to uni for a 9am poetry lecture. Frankly I'd rather stick pins firmly into my eyes than attend. I'm counting down the hours until the clock strikes half 12 and I get to jump back on a bus, and crawl lazily back into the snugness of my bed. Wishful thinking ey? Oh, and someone's paper in front of me tells me today also, for some, is a particularly exciting day. Let's hope there's no one stabbed today in exchange for the last copy of Call of Duty: ghosts, like the last major xbox game release. Madness. Well, I hope you all have a good bonfire night, whatever you happen to be doing; whether it be celebrating it in a traditional way, ignoring it completely, or doing something a bit more to your taste. As of now, 07:56am, I have no plans, but I'm not too fussed about that. Can always take advantage of a neighbour spending about eighty quid on rockets and Catherine wheels from an upstairs window. Hibernation might start soon. Unless someone can give me a really good reason to get out of bed on a morning.