Gripes & Graplings

Saturday, November 05, 2005

Bonfire Night

I’m sitting in the bedroom and all around me are explosions. If I didn’t know better, I’d think there was a war going on. But it’s just Bonfire Night, or Guy Fawke’s Night, depending on which name you generally give it.

Why do we build bonfires and shoot up fireworks every 5th November? What are we celebrating, exactly? The fact that Guy Fawke’s didn’t manage to blow up parliament, or the fact that he tried? I suppose that depends on how you feel about our government. Right now, I’m sort of glad he didn’t do it, although there were times during the 80s when I would have quite happily seen the whole damn place blasted to smithereens.

It does seem a shame that so much money is spent on making the sky look
pretty for one night, though. I can’t be bothered to do any research to find out how many millions go whoosh every year, but it's quite a few, I know that much. BUT, on the other hand, I’d usually be over the park enjoying the pretty lights along with thousands of other locals. But it’s raining tonight, so we didn’t bother. Apart from my teenage daughter who, along with a friend, polished off half a bottle of vodka before venturing forth into the night. Still, it’ll be hot around the huge bonfire they have over there.

I remember one bonfire night, about 8 years ago it must’ve been, when we went to a display in Manchester. It was in a field – right at the bottom as far away from the entrance as you could get. It was literally chucking it down, and the place was just one huge mud bath. We slipped and slid all over the show and eventually one of the girls went arse over head and was top to toe in brown sludge. Our shoes got stuck in the mud so walking was difficult and everybody wanted the toilet, but the port-a-cabin loos they’d put up were, of course, by the entrance. Very clever, I don’t think.

We were also as broke as it’s possible to be, so there was no money for a hot-dog, let alone a go on any of the amusements they’d hired in for the evening. We were cold, hungry and miserable.

In that respect, I’m happier sat here in my warm house, listening to the bangs and blasts going on outside. Stuff the fireworks, I’ll stick with my knitting! I don’t need to freeze my tits off to have fun!

Related Links:
The Story of The Gunpowder Plot and Guy Fawkes

Fireworks UK