I watched it grow from my ill bed. I watched the worker bees add piece upon piece as the large structured pile took shape, LP told me that they even had a 'TRACTOR' helping with the creation of the pagan sacrificial fire as it took on the shape of a small two up two down, right opposite us in the field they call (the one that will never be developed) Carter's Meadow.
I was supposed to be helping but I was struck down with a mixture of the tail-end of man flu and the full-blown sickness bug. Good excuse that, no one can argue. Slightly undermined by LP who simply wanted to be out there 'doin' it' with the village shamen menfolk, but it couldn't be helped, I was ill with a capital 'I'.
I made up for it though - tonight - it was the bonfire night party and I was a steward. I was a figure of authority. Not since school when I was a dinner monitor did people look at me with such respect. I was positively flying...
Unfortunately, I was not with my boy when he whooped and sucked his teeth at the incredible Chinese fireworks and I can only imagine how much fun he had twirling around the neon pink stick thingy that is even now hanging on the front door latch.
I've just looked out of the bedroom window and the fire is still going. There is something so safe and comforting about looking at a real wood fire. I will fall asleep with the gradually flickering embers dying down on a cold November night.
Childhood memories are made on nights like this.
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