Got halfway through this yesterday, booze, Empire Strikes Back and low battery got in the way of finishing it. Sozzer.
Think of things you loved as a child: the smell of fresh cut grass, cool, dewy morns, free cake. It was all great, clearly. One of the things a lot of young ‘uns liked seemed to be those flaming (tiny)tubes of gunpowder launched into the air for the seeming good of humanity. Or: fireworks. Those things you set fire to and watched explode. Yeah, them.
I watched some tonight – nothing amazing, just a barge on the sea throwing flaming cylinders into the sky so they can explode in a shower of coloured… stuff. It was alright, though not exactly on a par with THE BEST FIREWORKS SHOWS IN THE WORLD, like… umm… the ones I’ve never seen. It had colours, explosions and a variation in the type, colour and size of explosion that happened all over the sky. So yeah, that was alright.
Thing is, when I was a kid I was terrified of the bloody things, and I never understood how anyone could be anything but terrified. I mean, they were literally explosion shows, with explosions. Loud ones. Big bangs combined with the impending terror of another big bang never did bode well for tiny Ian.
While I’ve managed to get over that and can now successfully coo with delight at the slightest sign of any coloured explosives being launched into the sky, I do still retain some feelings of fear from my childhood. As such, if you see me flinching at a fireworks display, feel free to come over, point, laugh and say “hahaha, Ian was a child once!” BOOM!