Bonfire Night. I wrote about it last year. This year our school’s celebration was delayed by a week, putting us slightly off-sequence from the rest of the country. But on a clear and chilly night, we finally had our fill of giant bonfires and rockets.
And super creepy magicians. Okay, I apologize to what appears to be a dear sweet man who undoubtedly has a lovely family and probably rescues cats and orphans as a side hobby, but OMG he looked almost as scary as the poltergeist clown which I am still sure lives under my bed.
I didn’t have quite as much spirit this year as last. It was pleasant to feel comfortable in the crowd — a bit familiar. I did sing the Star Spangled Banner to myself (OH SAY!). Just a little. We tried the rides, ate candy floss, waved crazy light sticks, Oo-ed and Aa-ed at the lights. But my heart wasn’t in it. Maybe last year I was overfull with the excitement of moving and discovery, and this year I’m too overwhelmed by the slog through chill and darkness to find that spark inside. Maybe next year we can just have a cozy bonfire at home with some s’mores and warm cider and one of the bizarre ditties of Guy Fawkes:
So let’s bless the Royal Majesty, and bless the Royal son, sirs,
And may he never get blown up if to the throne he comes, sirs.
And if he does, I’m sure he’ll reign–so prophesize my song, sirs;
But if he don’t, why then he won’t, and so I can’t be wrong, sirs.