I love bonfire night. And I do call it bonfire night, rather than fireworks night. I’d be disappointed if there was no bonfire. Having said that I also love the fireworks. As a child I never went to an organised display. Instead my parents would host a bonfire night party, with a huge bonfire, complete with Guy, and friends and family would all bring fireworks which were decanted into an old Christmas chocolates tin to keep them safe. The evening was then spent oohing and aahing at the Roman candles, assorted fountains, rockets and of course the Catherine wheels. And there was soup. Plenty of soup. As the fire died down we would sit round it on benches soaking up the last of the heat, well into the night. Except that unless it rained, the fire would keep going after everyone was gone, and the last of the heat would be a day or two, or once I believe seven days later. Happy memories.
That was a long time ago now, and we tend to go to organised displays now. So last night I saw both bonfire and fireworks over at nearby Wallingford. It was chilly but perfect bonfire weather. And both the fire and the fireworks were impressive. I don’t know if my daughter will remember it with the same fondness that I have for bonfire nights from my childhood, but it certainly was bright as day!