DarkLikeVader

You snuggled into the thickest, longest [f/c] scarf you had, gloved hands idly playing with its woollen tassels.  Somehow, you had been lumbered with responsibility of guarding your table, with the specific instruction to 'ensure other sods don't go pinching it'. By table, it was actually some rickety old wooden bench that had seen better days. Over the years you had spent living in the English countryside, you'd learned that all benches in beer gardens were of a similar condition. But still, it was better than having to stand for hours with the other spectators that had come to the Queen's Head for the fireworks display.