Independence Day

There's something vaguely perverse about celebrating the Fourth of July in the UK. No massive cookouts. No swimming. No hours of History Channel programming about the Revolutionary War that vilifies the British. No Law & Order marathon. No going to the American Village and trying to hang out in the air-conditioned press building. (Good times, that.)

No, we made do in the best possible fashion: we staged a "cook-in" (fearing rain), complete with meat, non-meat, potato salad, and entirely too much dessert (hurts so good, though), and watched Wimbledon, as Blockbuster has somehow neglected to purchase a copy of Independence Day. The festivities wrapped up around four, when many of us slunk away to nap off lunch, but we were roused two hours later by the promise of free food at our "Midsummer Pizza Party".

Come on, Warden, just call it what it is. It's okay. We won't tell anyone you want to celebrate our independence.

Anyway, after our first serving of rationed Papa John's, we began complaining that we were still stuffed from lunch, which was sad, as the pizza was good and, best of all, free. Some made the most of the situation by taking pizza for a later meal.

The highlight of the evening was the Three Sisters' Fourth of July bash, which was most definitely not like any I've ever seen. The Scottish "trucker" band in the courtyard played Johnny Cash and Bob Dylan covers, while the DJ inside played tracks that could be vaguely construed as American (including the inevitable "Sweet Home Alabama", joy and bane of my existence). Fortunately, the rain stayed away, and the bar put off about two minutes' worth of fireworks over their roof. Has to be one of the shortest displays on record, but hey, fireworks in Scotland? I'll take it. Any oasis in a desert...