Remember, remember the 5th November. Tonight I am flying solo, tutting about the youths setting off fireworks, upsetting the dog and interrupting my Succession binge watch whilst the teenager has gone to a bonfire party with his mates. I am sad about that to be honest, but as these memories show, it is how it always should be. Here’s what comes up for me:
1. Getting my own torch and being taught how to do the SOS signal in case I should get lost (military Dad childhood training basics, page 1).
2. The bonfire night display at Victoria Park in Hamble when the bank caught fire and the fire brigade had to put it out.
3. The amazing night Alan and Laura had a bonfire night in their back garden with a Catherine Wheel nailed to the fence (and my fear of certain death due to watching Blue Peter beforehand).
4. Getting busted snogging my boyfriend under a tree by my parents because I forgot the fireworks would illuminate where I was hiding from them, and the subsequent teen drama when my friend who also fancied him found out.
5. Getting piped through the local village to the bonfire with my wee boy and seeing his delight at holding a sparkler for the first time.
5. The time the husband ruined a child’s bonfire/birthday party by standing in a dog poo and walking it through the entire house where all the children (and many of the adults) were running about barefoot.
Hot dogs, baked potatoes, hot chocolate, writing your name with a sparkler, freezing cold, pouring rain… nearly Christmas.
Some things are always a bit special.