Today is Victoria Day, a day we Canucks use as an excuse to drink until our livers threaten to explode along with the fireworks. Well, some of us, anyway.
In truth, it’s in tribute to good Queen Victoria. Back in 1867, Vic decided to allow Canada to convene her own parliament independent of Great Britain, thus, in essence, giving us our independence. May 24th was her birthday, and since then, we have celebrated the first long weekend in the summer before or on her birthday as a sort of “thank you.”
In my hometown, we celebrated with Calithumpian (a loud, discordant noise), and of course, fireworks were the highlight. There were a lot of sleepy-eyed kids in school the next day, until some partypoopers decided to switch the fireworks to the Sunday night instead of the Monday.
Right now, someone is setting off a fireworks display in my neighbourhood, despite the fact that it’s not even dark yet.
Buncha savages in this town.
Jeopardygirl: As I Am 
Yeah, and your hometown’s fireworks outdid those of the city down the road by a factor of ten.
How naive I was. I always used to question why it’s referred to as the May 2-4 weekend, when Victoria Day almost NEVER falls as late as the 24th.
It’s odd–this is the one holiday weekend people book off MONTHS in advance. And almost invariably, the weather’s crappy.