More explosives tonight. Once again Noodles shrieked with joy at the spectacle. And it was a spectacle. The town’s annual Bonfire Night fireworks are possibly the thing that the borough council does best. Which is possibly a bit scary – shouldn’t they do mundane things like town planning and refuse collection and policing best? But it’s nice to have a sense of community, municipal bonding around a damn great bonfire.
Except the pyrotechnics weren’t the only fireworks going off. Because for all the fire and brimstone, Hell is actually other people.
I thought I’d have to keep a careful eye out for Noodles, who can be whippet-fast when he wants to be. No, no worries there – the lazy little monkey decided he wanted to be carried all evening. I swear I have the biceps of Madonna under my bingo wing fat. Instead it was my dad who made a bolt for it as we queued for hot dogs.
One second he’s reading the menu, the next he’s having a go at some bloke. The sort of bloke who it looks like most people wouldn’t choose to have a go at. My dad is becoming increasingly grumpy in his old age, but it had escalated like I’d never seen before. I just couldn’t figure out whether it’d be my dad or the other bloke to land the first punch.
‘What was that about?’ I asked as he finally let it go.
‘Arsehole jumped the queue!’
Ah, the one thing guaranteed to light a Brit’s fuse. A queue needs to be respected. Never mind celebrating the failure of a Catholic conspirator to blow-up Parliament; anyone to step out of line for their own self-serving needs are the ones who should be hanged, drawn and quartered.
It’s surely only a matter of time before it’s a storyline on EastEnders.
Never mind secrets and lies, betrayal and treachery. Skip ahead in a queue and BOOM!
Tonight of all nights seems fitting really. It doesn’t get more British than that!