TimTams

We were recently sent two packets of TimTams (Thanks Emma) and they were most appreciated. Tom had one... and I had the remaining 19. Share and Enjoy!

Guess who's now 1?

Well, she can't walk yet but has an impressive vocabulary of farmyard animals and bath toys. And she can say 'cake'. What more could a girl want?

My Evening, November 5

As I leave the front door and begin to wind my way down into the town, I keep a sharp eye out around me.  All around are sprays of small lights in the sky, which appear and fade over a few seconds, punctuated by an occasional bright flash that lights the suburban landscape.  The air, merely overcast and threatening drizzle at sunset,  is now thick with smoke and the stink of gunpowder, and the sounds of explosions form an almost constant background.  The brightest flashes are followed by near-deafening cracks a second or so later, which invariably startle and cause me to glance sharply in their direction.  Gradually it settles down; there is a persistent crackle that sounds like small-arms fire around a mile in front of me, away to the north on the far side of the river valley, while down to my left and behind me, to the south-west, there is an irregular, less frequent, deeper thump of heavier shells.  To the south-east things are mostly quiet, though there is the odd whistle of a rocket being launched.  To the north-west, in the direction of the city centre, the low cloud reflects a bright orange glow, which seems to get brighter as the smoke thickens.

I walk quickly, as the night air is cold, and take a dark route, the better to see rather than be seen.  Walking along a length of road, I am passed by a rattly, battered ex-army jeep, but the streets are unusually empty tonight.

As I begin to descend into the heart of the town, there is a sudden erruption of sharp cracks that freezes me stock still.  At first it seems that it can only be yards away, but as I recover from the shock I realise that it must be several blocks away at least, if not near the edge of the town, and I continue on my way.  We have had some forewarning of this; for the past week there has been the occasional explosion heard after dark, but nothing has prepared us for the scale of tonight, when things have started in earnest.

Sound familiar?  It won't, not to Australians.  What God-forsaken war zone have I landed in?  Afghanistan?  Iraq?  No; nor is this a flight of fancy.  This is suburban South-West England, near Bristol, and the French have not invaded (nor anyone else, for that matter).  But tonight is bonfire night, or Guy Fawkes night, and the quantity of fireworks expended within sight of my house is deeply impressive.

For anyone who does not know the history, Guy Fawkes night celebrates the foiling of a Catholic plot to blow up the Protestant-majority parliament in the 17th century.  A fellow called Guy Fawkes was discovered in the cellars of the Palace of Westminster, trying to look casual as he said, "What pile of gunpowder?  Oh oh, oh, this pile of gunpowder!  No, dunno nuffin' about it."  Over the intervening centuries, the date has morphed from Let's celebrate our freedom from tyrrany etc etc to It is every Englishman's right to buy as much light explosive as he can carry and set it off on (or at least within a week of) November 5.

The display, as I have said, has been impressive.  We have impressive displays of fireworks in Australia, but they are always highly organized, orchestrated, expensive affairs that are planned, designed and generally over within ten minutes.  There is nothing organized or designed about this display.  Every man, his dog and his dog's tapeworm has been out and bought a selection of fireworks, ranging from a small display suitable for a five-minute garden entertainment for £3, up to a large set of display fireworks for around £50, and is setting them off as fast as his cider-addled state will allow.  There are, of course, a fair number who just can't wait for the night and have been setting them off for the last week, but tonight they are everywhere.

In Australia, of course, setting fireworks off willy-nilly is generally frowned on, as they tend to produce rather more wide-spread displays (ie fires) than the operator intended.  For most of my childhood, purchasing fireworks required an expensive commercial operator's license, and it is only in the last few years that individuals have been able to buy them.  Even then, you need a permit which specifies a particular time and place where you may set them off, and the penalties for breaching the conditions are stiff.

Not so in England; every supermarket sells fireworks, and everyone buys them.  The only restrictions are that you have to be over 18 and can only buy them at certain hours.

We have contributed in our small way, setting off a few small pyrotechnics in our back yard, ostensibly for Elizabeth's entertainment but actually for mine.  Elizabeth, for the most part, watched with a slightly puzzled frown, until one made some sharp cracks, and she got a bit upset.  We have some left for tomorrow night, so we can acclimatise her slowly.