What a multi-talented entity a garden is. It provides a slice of nature, a children’s playground, a place for drying clothes, a home for your tortoise and a corner to dine al fresco, or to be more colloquial, eat outside. But just when the garden thinks it’s all over for another year with the onset of autumn…
…it is invariably hauled back momentarily into pyrotechnical action at the beginning of November and subjected to mayhem.
What are we doing?
Why, drinking sparkling wine and setting off rockets of course.
Nothing signifies a celebration more than Champagne and Fireworks. They endorse just about any special occasion and bonfire night is no exception. They even have the same acronyms:
Fireworks are a class of E.P.D. (explosive pyrotechnic device)
Champagne is a glass of E.P.D. (effervescent party drink)
Trouble is small gardens make a dodgy stage. Confined spaces hiding nasty little ‘bangers’ that make you think of a terrorist attack,
explosive rockets that give owl’s nightmares and reverberations that cause cats and dogs to hunt for holes to hide in.
Much kinder to leave the poor garden to slip off quietly into hibernation and scamper along to the village green, city park or even school playground where you can gather round the council’s well prepared bonfire.
(No heretics here)
Where experts will know how to light up the sky without hurting themselves, where experienced stackers will be hurling old scaffolding planks onto the top of the furnace and where, no doubt, an enterprising person will be dealing in hard and soft, hot and cold drinks and well baked potatoes wrapped in silver foil with lashings of butter and pepper.
Just think how much happier your neighbours will be, and their poppets and pets too.
Of course all this seasonal malarky is thanks to Guy Fawkes of course who surely must have schemed with the holy Dom Pérignon to hand us the illustrious double act of Fireworks and Champagne.
But you sure as hell know the whole thing has gone bonkers when we can find graffiti of Mr Fawkes hybridised with an Argentinian Marxist revolutionary as I did the other day.
Mind you our Bonfire Night doesn’t come close to the one they manage in Spain. Valencia’s ‘Las Fallas’ is the mother of them all.
Starting on the15th of March and going on for five days they throw a firework fest that makes our own effort look like the cremation of the unknown budgie.
Think of what a week of that would do to your garden.
Alex Dingwall-Main.© October 2107