Saturday evening and my coffee mug is empty. I’ll sort that in a minute. First, though, I need to have a quick rant.
I’m sitting at home tapping the plastic squares on my laptop. Outside, fireworks are going off. Pop and bang. Bang more than pop.
I started writing this. Then left it.
Nah. Don’t write that. You’ll sound like a grumpy old bugger.
Then—
BOOM! BANG! BA-BOOM!
Sod it. I’m writing it.
It’s November 7th, not the 5th. I get it. The weekend gives people a chance to let off the fireworks they didn’t have time for in the week. Fair enough.
But what happened to the fireworks themselves?
Still sound like a grumpy old git, mate. Write a short story instead.
Then I hear the neighbours’ dogs whining.
Poor little buggers. They don’t know what date it is.
Is it me, or are fireworks all fart and no shit these days? Plenty of bang. Not much fizz. Though I’m sitting indoors, so perhaps I’m missing the good bit.
I remember Dad setting rockets off from a milk bottle when we were kids. The wait. The fizz. Then up they went, and we’d tip our heads back to follow them.
Catherine wheels nailed to the fence. They were good, weren’t they? Spinning sparks and shooting colours for a few seconds. Unless they stuck. Then we’d all stand there looking at a fence on fire.
Perhaps memory’s improved the display a bit.
What I’m hearing tonight, though, is bang bloody bang. One goes off. Another answers. Then a louder one.
All right. Steady. Mr Grump’s taken over the keyboard.
I want people to enjoy a firework display. We had one the other night at the local rugby club. They always put on a good show for families. Hot dogs and jacket spuds. Everyone standing about, waiting for the next one.
That sounds good to me. That’s the bit I remember.
Perhaps that’s what I’m missing tonight. I can hear the fireworks, but I’m not part of the evening. I’m indoors with an empty mug, judging everyone else’s fun through the window.
Still feel sorry for the dogs, mind.
There’s another bang. I look up from the laptop.
Missed it.
Right. I’ll make a fresh brew. Might stand at the window for a minute while the kettle boils. Give them a chance.
Bang bloody bang.