FIREWORKS NIGHT

A few years ago, in another office, on the 5th of November, a girl walked in, took off her coat and slumped in her chair.

"I don't know what all this fuss is about this Gary Fawkes night," she said. I was thankful there was nobody else around, so when I'd composed myself I tried my best to explain what had happened in 1605 and why we celebrate it. I still love the idea of Gary Fawkes being apprehended in the undercroft.

'Ere Gary, wotchoo doin' wiv all them barrels, sunshine? An wass wiv the fuse? Oi! Put that daan.

I've always had a soft spot for Fireworks Night. We grow up with it here, watching the sky fill with colours and feeling the warmth of the flames as we gather round in the cold with our gloved hands, sparklers and marshmallows on sticks.

I wrote a little poem about it - well, it's more to do with the sounds really: the percussive noises that fill up the cold air like music on a November night; it's all about the consonants...

Fireworks Night

Boom ticky tack, ticky nuck nuck pow
With a whoop and a holler
And a whistle and a woller
And a wick-whack trick track, whomp-back wow!

Bang chuffy pop, chiffy chiff-chaff bong
With a thwock and a twizzle
And a frazzle and a fizzle
And a quick quack bizzle back, pip pap pong!

Bosh zappy zip, zippy whizz whack whee
With a swish and a swazzle
And a dizzle and a dazzle
And a rizzle and a razzle
And a clip clap, rip rap riz raz ree!