It’s been raining here. Rain, rain and more rain. The sort of days when it’s hard to get enthusiastic about going outside and doing anything constructive because you know you’ll just get soaked. During the day office work calls and in the evenings the fire is lit, the shutters closed so we can’t hear the rain and I’ve pulled out my knitting and at long last started to knit Ruth’s socks that I promised her ages ago.
But today, it’s sunny (though the forecast isn’t great for the rest of the week) and tonight we’ll be outside celebrating Bonfire Night.
In my childhood we would chant:
Remember, remember the fifth of November
Gunpowder, treason and plot.
I see no reason, why gunpowder treason
Should ever be forgot.
and everyone stood around the bonfire in their garden while adults and unsupervised children let off fireworks with reckless abandon. The sole aim of boys seemed to be getting a Jumping Jack firework to jump down the girls’ wellington boots as we stood twirling our sparklers, making patterns in the darkness.
Nowadays most people seem either to ignore Bonfire Night in favour of Halloween or go to a large organised firework display, but we’re still old fashioned enough to build a bonfire and stand in front of it for a couple of hours, our faces red and burning from the fire while our backs freeze.
Our bonfire is built and there’s some Cinder Toffee in the tin ready to take outside. It’s toe curlingly sweet to eat, but fun to make as the sugary mixture whooshes up in the saucepan when you add the bicarbonate of soda.
I even dipped some in chocolate to make our very own Crunchie Bars. We’ll have a mug of soup and eat baked potatoes and sausages. Nothing fancy. Nothing new. Just the same as always. Except for the Jumping Jacks, which for some reason have been banned.