I love fireworks night. I think that, bar Christmas, it is my favourite seasonal holiday or event or whatever. There’s just something about it that turns all men, including myself, into five-year olds. From the moment that first rocket screams up into sky the and detonates, filling the air with the crackling of magnesium. The way that over the course of half an hour the sky is flooded with a thousand beautiful, short lived, unique constellations. Nothing else says the fifth of November like the faint tang of burning metals in the air.
Usually we have some fireworks at home with the family and this year was no exception. Some baked potatoes slowly crisping in the oven and the hot-dogs just going on the boil, along with the traditionally teeth pulling, home-made bonfire toffee and we were set to go. Off into the garden we trooped, dad’s face split by an enormous grin. He does love his fireworks bless him.
It wasn’t an enormous display this year, just a few rockets, a few of the ground-based fizzy ones, a load of sparklers….. oh yes, and a 120 shot Roman candle with a minimum safety distance of 100 meters. Now, this may surprise you, but my garden in definitely not 100 meters long. It’s a lot closer to ten. You’ve never felt truly alive until your father has lit an enormous, multi-shot rocket so close to the shed that roughly one in three of the rockets hits the overhang of the roof and ricochets off in a random direction before exploding. Terrifying, don’t get me wrong, but amazing to watch.
That was on the 5th itself, but on the Friday I also went down to watch the fireworks display in Corby. There were so many people there, all walking in the same direction, a mass of humanity. There was laughter in the air, hot-dog sellers, men selling light-up plastic tat from buckets. The bonfire was lit at seven and there was a real buzz. Everyone was happy to be there. Then the display started.
And what a display. So perfectly timed, so well planned, rockets popping off in unison, different colours mingling and matching in air. Wonderful. And the people watching it were all of the same mind, ahhhing and ooohing as one. There was a real sense of community in the air, as though we were banding together for this one night. And then the fireworks ended. People looked around, reformed their groups and, without missing a beat, started to trudge away again. Within minutes nearly a thousand people had vanished leaving nothing behind but the smouldering remains of a bonfire and heaps of litter on the floor.
The Rock from Saint Helens 