Symbolically burning all that was worthless and all the vanities that were dragging me down. I guess it grew in my mind over the last week or so, having seen in B & Q those galvanised incinerators that I remember from the garden at Broad Oak Lane. For quite a few years running when the kids were little I used a makeshift thing with a steel tray and some bricks – and it was time to revive the tradition. There were a few things outside that needed burning anyway. So I swung by and got one on the way home. Then up to Asda to get some fireworks, forgetting that we had some at home from last year, or even the year before. Slight atmosphere of desperation in the fireworks queue at Asda, as if no-one would ever be able to buy fireworks again. Manager desperate to shift them. No receipt. Cash only.
The bonfire and fireworks went down well as a little surprise. All familiar. Sitting on the step with a beer and watching the fire while Matthew Wright intoned from inside. Small scale and subtle fireworks compared with the whizz-bang competition going on between neighbouring streets and houses in the murky sky. I thought of it too as kind of celebration of Barak’s win – and the hope it represents.