I wonder if Bonfire Night is as exciting for kids these days as it was when i was little? Fireworks were things that had to be left to your dad to deal with, or a rare public display, kids were certainly not allowed to buy them down the local shops nor would we have even dreamt of asking.

We used to raid our parent's wardrobes for old clothes with which to make a guy, then proudly stand in the street inviting passers-by to part with a penny on his behalf. At the end of it all, we felt rich.

A rocket used to be stood in a milk bottle, a Catherine-wheel used to dangle off an old nail on a garden post and we used to feel very grown-up when we were allowed to hold a sparkler, even if it secretly frightened us a little bit.

One year we all went round to a friend's house for a Bonfire party, which was fantastic as i recall. His mum made us home-made toffee-apples and lots of jacket potatoes and hot-dogs. The way to every mans heart even at such a tender age is through his tummy.

I was about eight but i had a little crush on her at the time, i think it was that she reminded me of Lulu a bit and always wore tight jeans. Walking home afterwards in the cold November air, i was blissfully happy and that single evening in my distant past has lingered with me ever since.

If you would like an evening in my freezing back garden, scoffing jacket-potatoes and toffee-apples, watching the blazing bonfire and making all those oooh! noises as the fireworks explode then you are more than welcome. Penny for the guy?
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