Having kids has its perks.   You get to eat their sweets.  They can do the housework for you.  Christmas is a massive perk. I can get über excited about Christmas under the pretence it’s just for the kids’ benefit.

Bonfire Night is another.

I bloody love it.  It’s one of my favourite times of the year. It kicks Easter’s arse and laughs in the face of Halloween. 

Like most things, my love of Bonfire Night stems from my childhood. My dad was always a bit of a pyromaniac when we were growing up and loved making bonfires (legally I should point out. Well, mostly.) We were lucky enough to have a really big garden when we were kids and as Dad was a builder he always had random bits of rubbish to burn, so there always seemed to be a bonfire on the go at some time or other. Give him the opportunity to actually spend time building a proper fire once a year for Bonfire Night and us kids were always in for a treat.

Our place became the place to go to for firework displays. It was all that. Granted, there weren’t many official displays put on back then, but Chez Sutton was always the place to go. Mum would, as ever, provide the food. Simple fare … sausages, rolls, cooked onions … splosh of ketchup – sorted. If we were lucky, we’d have her infamous apple slices with fluorescent pink icing for pudding.

My brother and I were in charge of making Guy Fawkes. We’d ask Mum for pairs of her tights to fill with scrunched up pages of old newspapers. He would never look anything like Guy Fawkes – but the fun was had in the creating. Oh, and the burning to within an inch of his life of course.

I need to digress slightly here. It’s part of my therapy. Kidding. Although this next story may explain a lot. Growing up, my dad raced greyhounds. I talk about that HERE. My brother used to dress me up as Guy Fawkes. I was probably aged 7. I got paid in sweets. That is all I have to say on the subject ☺

Nowadays, it’s too expensive to go to an organised event and Dad doesn’t do Bonfire Night anymore. We’ve taken to either having a few fireworks in our back garden or, and this is my thrifty tip of the week … we find a vantage point at home – either in the back garden or bedroom window – and watch other people’s fireworks.

Last night’s were exceptional. As soon as I heard the first rocket go off, it was slippers on and, ignoring the rain as best as I could, I ran outside to see if I could see them. Luckily, they were being let off only a few doors away from us and it was a great display. Especially as it was free!

Skig watched with me for a while but soon got bored. I think Power Rangers was on TV.

As for me, I stood outside in the rain for twenty minutes, ‘oooohing’ and ‘aaaaahing’ on my own, clapping like a mad women when the finale came.

My name is Kate … and I’m a firework addict. First step to recovery, right?

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Published by Kate Sutton

Writer, Mother, Dater.

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