Fireworks Night

You end up resurrecting a tradition you got fed up with around the age of ten just to entertain your kids. The kids hate the fireworks. They cry. You end up cold, cross, freezing, possibly wet in the November rain.

You are standing in a crowd pulsating with hate for each other as everyone else is spoiling everyone else’s child’s view. Then just as the last firework fizzles out it becomes a war. A war of prams, parents and screaming children trying to get out of the venue. Everyone in quiet determination pushes whilst pretending not to. No one is given a chance to push in. They would be taken out by a pack of rabid mothers if they dared.

You are thinking about the car queue building up and feel somewhat smug that you are parked about a mile away. Children cry and you tell them to shut up and enjoy themselves because you are suffering as well. You are slowly beginning to realise your own parents rows and frustration from when you were a child. Your parents hated these events then. You hate them now.