I've spent a weekend mainly drinking beer and lighting a tonne of fireworks far too close to my house. There are large chunks of blackened grass and sizeable craters littering my garden and a skipful of spent munitions that tell me I must have had fun the night before. Arm four men - four responsible mid thirties parents with a lighter and an excuse to blow things up (Halloween is just round the corner and Guy Fawkes is within grasping distance) and add the last crucial element - beer - and you're in for a treat.
Okay - so I tried to convince the missus that "it's for the kids - they love all the colours" but that wore thin after the first half hour. Wore thin when they'd long since abandoned us and headed back inside to watch Monsters Inc and beat each other with improvised torch lightsabres.
But still - we persevered. Despite the horizontal rain, the arctic cold and wind. And it felt good.
I felt alive. Briefly. Doing what men pretty much do best. Destruction!
Needless to say - I woke up with the distinct impression that an elephant sat on my head in the middle of the night and crapped inside my skull - but it was worth it. I also forgot the clocks went back. So did the kids.
Tonight I will sleep. I must sleep. I like sleep...I will sleep soon. But...the children will not sleep - there are other people lighting rockets now. And it's late - bloody late - midnight. "If they wake the sodding kids one more time - I will personally shove that Chinese firecracker up someone's arse!" I declare self righteously. Ahh how the tide has turned...but 24 hours later and already I regret setting a trend to endure for the next 3 weeks.
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