Came down half an hour ago from the darkness of the Bishop's Glen back into the town. Amazing. We noted one garden ablaze with tree-lights; next door a silent figure was wrestling with a bush - no doubt in emulation of his better-prepared neighbour. Further down the road, we could see wildly flashing lights moving erratically at some height above the ground. This turned out not to be anything more sinister than a National Lampoon-type attempt to wrap a largish Victorian semi-detached villa of two storeys in illuminations - but at what cost to the nerves, as the house-owner swayed precariously on the top rung of an extending ladder as he hammered nails into his roof.
Now in these parts we *need* our roofs. They need strong slates, good ridging - and no more wee holes than are strictly necessary to hold them together. It's one thing to deck a low-rise ranch-style dwelling in some place where crisp dry winters - or maybe some picturesque snow - are the norm, but here we do RAIN. And strong westerly winds to drive it into crannies. Any wee holes and you soon have a wee drip to go with them.
Meanwhile, as the darkness grows out there, I hope that man has got on to the lights which were draped - all on, all flashing - on the ground round the back of the house. I may go back for a look some evening. But now, should I maybe find the Christmas cards I bought last summer ....?