Fireworks

On the day of the American Presidential election, when Joe Biden looks as if he may actually get enough votes to win (please God), and Donald Trump is screaming electoral fraud, demanding that vote counting be stopped, and stoking the possibility of violence at the ballot box, England has entered the first day of the second national lockdown.

It’s also fireworks night. Celebrations are muted this year. A couple of hours of fireworks going off in people’s back gardens, hand-held sparklers in the porch by the front door, and then silence. No big displays this year. The kids are normally disturbed by loud noises and screaming fireworks until about midnight and beyond, but this year it’s deadly quiet by 9:00pm. Which is strange (but good).

I’m pretty tired. I need the weekend to recoup – I need to spend some time in bed. I need rest. Things have been so busy and non-stop lately. And the weather’s turned cold, although still not nearly as cold as it should be at this time of year compared to my childhood when it was frost and hats and gloves.

For three weeks before the lockdown I asked Jack if he would please allow me to take him to the barbers for a haircut, but each time he loudly protested. “I will NEVER get a haircut!” ADHD/ASC means he doesn’t answer questions politely or reasonably, or even sensibly. Each week it was the same answer. NEVER.

ON THE DAY OF LOCKDOWN, TODAY, Jack asks for a haircut. Practically begs for one. All hairdressers are closed of course so there’s no chance for a haircut for a month at the very least, but he was inexplicably suddenly desperate, so I had to do a DIY session with him standing in the bath and me wielding a beard trimmer (I don’t have a pair of clippers). I didn’t get a chance to get my own highlights done, so I’m going to be going grey for Christmas. I wish I’d organised a trip to the hairdressers before lockdown started. Too late now.

Ah well, perhaps I’ll wake up tomorrow to hear that Biden has officially won. That’ll take a great weight off my shoulders, if not the entire’ world’s shoulders. We want to see the back of the pouting, tantrumming man-child that’s occupied The Whitehouse for four excruciating years.

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