OK, so first off I am an idiot. A prize ejit, complete plonker. I’ll tell you why: I can’t count. What a douch. I was looking over my pages and seeing what I could add in for number 11 today, and realised that I had completely skipped number 7. As I said; idiot.
So, now that the obvious idiocy is out of the way I will continue with this week’s cheerful thought. And this week the winner is bonfire night.
I love bonfire night, everything about it from the amazing smells, to the cold weather and the thick woolen coats. I even enjoy the hanging about in the freezing night air to enjoy 5 mins of fireworks. There is just something special about standing with a few hundred others to experience, together, the continued destruction of our environment and the always impressive view of fireworks.
This year my fiance and I headed to our local firework, foregoing the big city events for something smaller, more intimate, and essentially something that we could easily walk to. I love walking to fireworks too, don’t ask me why, I don’t have an answer for you. Anyway, we walked through the village and as we drew nearer came across a mass of people walking in the same direction, all dressed up in thick woolen jackets, hats, wellies, scarves and all heading to the fireworks. I was in astonishment that there were so many people actually in our village.
We joined the throng and followed the crowd down a narrow country lane, in the pitch black, something that didn’t bother me as I grew up in the country and was used to not being able to see my way. However my poor fiance got a bit silly and concerned, he grew up in a city and to be in the middle of pitch darkness with no idea what was under your feet made him a little panicky. He had also ignored my warnings and worn trainers, not wellies, so was less pleased when he realised that his feet were going to get just a little bit damp. Personally, I found that hilarious.
We reached field with several hundred people in it and a few flood lights, just to make it a bit easier, and a huge bonfire at one end. I love the smell of bonfires, interesting for an asthmatic, but I do. It essentially smells of home for me, the woodburner, the all natural country smell mixed in with a little bit of timber. The sparks were flying; I tried to take a picture but it didn’t do it justice. They were sparking off of the bonfire like fairies from A Midsummer Night’s Dream.
After 20 minutes or so of standing around the orange glow, watching a guy go up in smoke, literally, the countdown began. I have yet to meet anyone who cannot at least admire fireworks for their outstanding beauty. I know they are bad for the environment, and I do feel a little bit guilty every time I watch them, but essentially they are beautiful. The blues, the greens, the pinks, the sparkles, even the loud, annoying whining ones. And essentially there is something wonderfully romantic about it all. The firelight, the sparkles, it just seems to put everyone in a good mood. Not to mention the smell of hot soup that began drifting over form the hut.
They only lasted 8 minutes, but as always, they succeeded in putting me into a good mood. Even last year when it felt like the world was falling about me (I just received my diagnosis) bonfire night and those fireworks made everything alright for the hour that it took to walk in an watch them.
Of course, coming back down to earth always hurts, and this morning I am back to my usual stressed out self, but even the memory of them cheers me up, and will be enough until next November when once again we celebrate something that almost happened.
Now, before I get too sentimental, I’m going to stop. Until next week anyway. And hopefully, then, I will be able to count.
PS, when we got home the poor fiance had to ring out his socks. Well, at least that will be the last time he dismisses my warnings about country life…