Gunpowder, treason and plot...

It's Bonfire night tonight, an unusual UK tradition.

We remember Guido Fawkes, the Mohamed Atta of his generation (his generation being 1605AD) and the plot to blow up Kind James I and the Houses of Parliament.

As I write this I can hear the dull thud of rockets and air bombs as the explode outside then echo off the buildings nearby. It's still early, 10 o'clock , this is gonna go on all night.

Bonfire night is shit, when I was young a rocket went off in my hand as I was tyring to throw it into a neighbours back garden. It burnt my thumb and index finger of my right hand, I couldn't tell my mum so I fell asleep with my charred finger and thumb in a glass of water.

I had to walk home from work tonight, it's about a 3 mile walk and fireworks were already getting set off in peoples back gardens.

As I walked along, waiting for a stray rocket to take one of my eyes out, the memory of two Bonfire nights that we're complete shit, came into my head.

The first one was when I was a young boy, just old enough to be trusted by my parents to stay out late with my school friends, I must have been around ten.
I remember chestnuts and potatoes wrapped in foil cooking in the embers of a massive bonfire at the top of Castle Street, behind the shops. And my old primary school friends who I haven't thought of in years. I keep thinking of someone trying to hop the fire and getting there trainers burnt and every one laughing.

The second Bonfire Night that wasn't complete shit was when I was a bit older, old enough to get served in a pub, I spent all night in the Red Admiral and didn't see a single firework all night...