The Bonfire Curse

Me, my brother and sister, standing shoulder to shoulder, breath fogging up the glass – a fond memory of fireworks night growing up. I have always loved fireworks. The colours, how they look like magic and not to mention those ones that make the quiet sizzle sound.

It’s that time of year again where bonfires are lit, sparklers are held and rockets shoot off into the sky. I’m not long back from the annual tradition of attending my local park’s bonfire and fireworks display with my friend, Linzi – a night that usually consists of us freezing our toes off and at least one thing going terribly wrong.

What could possible go wrong on this one night a year? Spilling curry sauce on the small white zip area of a mostly black hoodie, spilling more than half of a can of energy juice despite it being in a resealable can, pizza candy floss (it isn’t as nice as it may sound) to recall just a few.

My luck with this night actually dates back further. Before I started attending this annual event with Linzi, I went along with two of my old best friends. One of these occasions saw me fall – or should I say slide – down a muddy hill resulting in a muddy arse. Later on in the night I then went on to fall a second time. Not my finest moment.

But despite all of this, I still have a great fondness for this time of year. Ever since I first saw the fireworks display at Disney World in Florida when I was 3, a Minnie Mouse light up toy in hand, they have captivated me and held my attention in a way that nothing else can. Come on, what else can make us look up at the nights sky in the freezing cold for about 10-20 minutes?

Oh, and for those of you wondering what went terribly wrong this year…

It wasn’t cold enough.

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