It's now two days after bonfire night, and there still seem to be hundreds of fireworks being let off outside. Bang, bang, bang. It's like living in Baghdad, except I guess they don't have bonfire night in Iraq. Or anywhere else in the world now I come to think of it.
I'm not really a fan of fireworks. You turn up, go "ooohh" a lot and then realise that that was it, an anticlimax as normal. I'd blame this on me getting old and miserable, but I've not enjoyed them particularly for many years. So I'll have to blame it on me just being miserable. And don't get me started on how expensive they are! Actually, I don't really know how much they are, as I never buy them.
Bonfire night is when we in Britain celebrate/commemorate the attempt of local York man, Guy Fawkes and his co-conspirators to blow up the Houses of Parliament in 1605. He didn't manage it, as he got caught before being able to light the epxlosives. And then he was executed. After a lot of torture, obviously. So now on November the 5th each year, we build big bonfires, and put an effigy of Guy on top. Then we burn the whole lot, along with any hedgehogs that have crawled into the fire for a little nap. We don't really burn Fawkes in a nasty way, more an affectionate "Oh that was bad, don't do it again, ahhh, look at you with your cute little hat".
Anyway, because of him and his cute little hat, I now have to put up with lots of bangs outside my window for days on end. Git.
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Not too keen on Bonfire night the cats hate it. Dougal seems to better this year, but Florence just hides in the closet. Strangely met someone this weekend who had cats called Florence and Dylan. Great minds think alike.
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