Did anyone go to Bonfire Night celebrations last night?
In my village, they’ve been doing a massive bonfire, preceded by a procession of decorated floats, for years, ever since since Guy Fawkes and his cronies were hung, drawn and quartered and told very firmly not to think about blowing Parliament up again.
It’s great and it always draws hundreds and hundreds of people. I’m lucky because I live in the middle of the village, so I’ve always been able to watch them from my front room. But this year, my friend and I bumped into a friend of hers in the afternoon, who said she was doing Grease in the parade and that all her Pink Ladies had been dropping like flies. I think you can guess what happened.
You can tell that’s my own blonde hair and not a wig because if it were a wig, you’d be able to see my own hair straggling round my neck. Which, of course, you can’t. You also can’t tell that I scrambled up on to the float on one knee and managed to get crap all over my trousers. It doesn’t show.
There were some amazing floats, but the only thing about being on one is, you don’t see them. We only had a quick chance as we passed each other at the end of the road (hence rubbish blurry pictures).
Check out the Stig! And see Uma Thurman, in the yellow, below? That’s Michael the postman. Apparently he was slightly uncomfortable.
It was great being on the float. Slightly embarrassing because we were boogieing away to Grease music in front of a street PACKED with people, many of which we knew, but I was safe in the knowledge that the wig and pink shades I had on made me unrecognisable
I’m a bit meh about fireworks themselves, so I went back to my friend’s while her husband and sister took the children on to the park. Much warmer, it had been pouring all day and was still drizzling, and you don’t get proper cups of tea at fireworks displays
When I was little, of course, I loved them. My mum would get a box of Standard fireworks and we’d wait for my dad to come home (it felt like hours!) and light them and a bonfire. It was always great and, as my dad would always say afterwards: “Next thing’s Christmas!”
Did you go to a display?