I was hoping for a quiet end to 2018 in Canada, because quite frankly I'm beat. The ugly year took so much out of me, I might need to be pushed across the finishing line in a wheelbarrow. And I'm not sure I should be wildly celebrating the arrival of 2019, because it could and probably will be worse. But one thing is for sure, for me this year ended with a bang.
When I woke up and discovered there was a rumour flying around Twitter that I had died of cancer.
In this house we celebrate Canadian holidays, Québécois ones, and Scottish ones like Hogmanay.
So if I had been in Edinburgh in the last couple of days, I could have taken in a Billy Bragg concert, joined 20-thousand others in a torchlight parade, led by five-thousand Vikings from the barbarous Shetlands, to burn a Viking boat.
And then watched the fireworks bursting over Edinburgh Castle.
Which you have to admit is pretty awesome eh? And a great way to end a seven-day national drinking binge.
On the other hand, in my small Scottish town village, if I recall correctly.
Apart from the heavy drinking.
The celebrations were considerably quieter...
Although since I could sing that song, dance, AND play the drum, I guess it wasn't THAT quiet. Especially if you were hungover.
Oh yeah. Feel free to change the lyrics from "Donald where's yer troosers?" to "Stephen where's your trousers?"
Gawd. I absolutely MUST convince my boss to give me January 11th off. So I can celebrate the Burning of the Clavie.
When the burning tar-barrel falls in pieces, the people scramble to get a lighted piece with which to kindle the New Year's fire on their cottage hearth. The charcoal of the clavie is collected and put in pieces up the cottage chimneys, to keep spirits and witches from coming down.
To keep Stephen Harper from coming down MY chimney eh?
Diversity. It's a wonderful thing. The more diverse you are, the more holidays you get.
