Now, first of all, I never, ever call this holiday weekend by that name. I refuse to call a national holiday after a box of beer.

So, here, we talk about the Victoria Day weekend. Or maybe the May 24th weekend. But never May two-four.

It's funny, but this weekend has produced almost every possible emotion in me.

When I was a kid, I used to get passionately excited about the May 24th weekend. Why? Because of the fireworks, of course. The whole neighborhood over at Brock's Beach used to pool their fireworks, so we always had a pretty good display on the beach.

But one year it rained, so Mom had us all stand on the verandah and sent Dad out to the driveway to set off the fireworks. Bless him, he didn't complain.

Believe it or not, there used to be telephone poles strung along the beach. But then they cut them all off to about a three-foot height. They were great for setting off fireworks - when it wasn't raining.

Later on, it turned into a party weekend. But it was a pretty mild party. After all, I still lived with Mom and Dad.

And then we bought Innisfree Cottages and I learned all about fear and loathing.

Now, to be fair, some of the kids were great. But some were absolute nightmares.

Like the lunatic who set off fireworks inside the cottage. Inside???? Yes. I couldn't believe my eyes but trust me, I got over to that cottage at a dead run.

And then there was the girl who got dead drunk and ran through my garden, kicking over every possible garden ornament.

Now, you can mess with me, up to a point. But you cannot mess with my garden.

I found one of the girl's friends and told her she had five minutes to get this nutbar into bed, or the whole cottage would be evicted.

Then a fight broke out in one cottage. I heard furniture smashing, which led me to knock on the door. No one answered, so I just walked in. This fight was between two girls. Hair-pulling, scratching.

Now, I barely knew such a thing was possible. I certainly have never been in a fight in my life. And it was clear they weren't about to stop just because I showed up.

But I had read that the best way to stop a dogfight was to scream as loudly as possible.

Might work here, I thought, and tried it. Everyone was so startled, they stopped fighting and looked at me - which gave me the chance to give my eviction speech.

They stopped fighting.

But it really was a nightmare. We used to stay up all night and make rounds with flashlights - just so they'd know someone was watching.

Now, we no longer have the cottages, so I'm back to the old May 24th routine. Buy groceries Thursday, bring the car home and park it for the weekend. Ignore strange night noises. Rake leaves. Garden.

To me, that's a party.