The path of the dark side

Aye, fireworks night (it can't be Guy Fawkes night without a bonfire) in Dunfermline so like fools we trooped off in the rain to watch them. Good they were too even if all the photos of them were crap. I blame Ellen for sitting on my shoulders and Ewan for also sitting on my shoulders and myself for not having a tripod and generally not caring less.

I preferred Ewan's light sabre. Makes light sabre noises and changes colour when it hits something. It'll be dead by tomorrow and he'll be upset. C'est la vie. If it hadn't been the light sabre photo, it would have been a drawing of me dancing, by me. A self-portrait I suppose. Ewan's been turning the tables on me and making me draw things in the same way that I leave titles for him. Today's title was Dancing Dad.

Tomorrow, we're off to Glasgow to kit out the mother with an iPad and broadband. That should be a laugh and half. For now, I'm getting some drugs, a toddy (well, a whisky) and then taking my man flu to bed.

Later: nah, that's dreadfully unsharp. Here's the drawing. I'm disappointed in the finger-snapping hand but the rest is actually pretty accurate. Sadly.