Remember remember the fifth of November
by bitingmylip
Remember remember the fifth of November
Gunpowder, treason and plot.
I see no reason why gunpowder treason
Should ever be forgot...
Oh Bonfire night how I love thee. The crisp air, the legitimate smell of smoke, the sparklers, the hats and gloves and scarves, the hot dogs, the toffee apples, the snap and crackle of the burning logs, the explosion of fireworks. Every year on the 5th of November, no matter how old I get, I am 10 years old again, ooohing and aaahing at the pretty fireworks, clapping and gasping at the loud bangs. What are fireworks but pretty lights in the sky? Expensive pretty lights that don’t even last that long, it is literally like burning money across a dark November sky. But much, much prettier, of course.
I love how bonfire night makes kids of us all. At a fireworks display this weekend, I stood with a bunch of other twenty- and thirty-somethings, watching the explosive lights. There were lots of them too. Whizzy ones, loud ones, quiet ones, short ones, ones that shot right up in the air so you had to crane your neck backwards and inhale sharply as they shot out hundreds of pretty silvery stars. We did gasp, we did clap, we did smile with sheer, unadulterated happiness at the display in front of us. The adults there were louder in their appreciation than the kids. Hardly anyone remembers the entire rhyme, few of us know more about the night’s history than the name Guy Fawkes, but we’ve done the penny-for-the-guy thing and we all love it.
In fact, I think it’s better than Christmas.
Remember remember the fifth of November
Gunpowder, treason and plot.
I see no reason why gunpowder treason
Should ever be forgot...
Oh Bonfire night how I love thee. The crisp air, the legitimate smell of smoke, the sparklers, the hats and gloves and scarves, the hot dogs, the toffee apples, the snap and crackle of the burning logs, the explosion of fireworks. Every year on the 5th of November, no matter how old I get, I am 10 years old again, ooohing and aaahing at the pretty fireworks, clapping and gasping at the loud bangs. What are fireworks but pretty lights in the sky? Expensive pretty lights that don’t even last that long, it is literally like burning money across a dark November sky. But much, much prettier, of course.
I love how bonfire night makes kids of us all. At a fireworks display this weekend, I stood with a bunch of other twenty- and thirty-somethings, watching the explosive lights. There were lots of them too. Whizzy ones, loud ones, quiet ones, short ones, ones that shot right up in the air so you had to crane your neck backwards and inhale sharply as they shot out hundreds of pretty silvery stars. We did gasp, we did clap, we did smile with sheer, unadulterated happiness at the display in front of us. The adults there were louder in their appreciation than the kids. Hardly anyone remembers the entire rhyme, few of us know more about the night’s history than the name Guy Fawkes, but we’ve done the penny-for-the-guy thing and we all love it.
In fact, I think it’s better than Christmas.
posted by bitingmylip at 4:59 AM
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