I've decided that most Anglo cultures have one last hurrah before seriously settling in to Christmas fever. In the US it's Thanksgiving, in Melbourne we have the Melbourne Cup and spring racing carnival. In the UK it's Bonfire Night, aka Guy Fawkes night. (The Brits need to wise up and give folk a bank holiday for it. If we can justify one for a horse race...)
Ants doesn't find Guy Fawkes nearly so big a deal as I do, cos they celebrate it in New Zealand too, but I grew up in a country where fireworks - or even little crackers that go pop - are banned from public sale. (The only exception is in Canberra, our nation's capital, arguably far more famous for selling dirty movies, marijuana, and fireworks than for governing the country.)
The buildup spans several weeks - off licences and dodgy corner shops put up signs, in various degrees of 'home made', advertising fireworks for sale. About a week in advance, a few over-excited teenagers decide they can't wait for the main event and pop a few off prematurely. News bulletins get filled with stories of innovative 'Guy's that have been made for burning, and diaries get filled with invitations to bonfires, bbqs and other things involving fire and night.
On whatever the nearest Saturday night is, the sky erupts into exploding colour, pops and whistles go off from dusk (about 4.30pm already - yikes!) until the wee small hours of morning, and the air all over Oxford reeks of cordite, or 'fireworks smells'.
I've no idea if the non-specific 'Slavic' family over the road have any idea that what they're actually celebrating is the discovery of a plot to blow up Parliament and the King (James VI and I). The confession of Guy Fawkes is one of the most famously documented examples of the use of torture in Britain by the state, which appears to have been much more rare than folk think. (What individual lords got up to in their private dungeons, on the other hand, has always been not the state's business!)
Technically, Guy Fawkes night (November 5) wasn't until Monday, which explains the repeat acts on Sunday and Monday - albeit on a smaller scale. But I'm sure there'll be random pops and whistles for a few nights yet. After that though, there'll be nothing to stop the stores going mad on decorations, endless carols recordings and exhortations to buy, buy, buy if you want to show someone you really love them.
Poor old Ants - I'm sure he'll be gutted to learnhe may have to settle for some nice home cooking and a song down the pub.
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