It's that time of year again, when people up and down the country celebrate a failed Catholic terrorist who died over 400 years ago with bangs, whizzes and bonfires. I'm not a great fan, I always found standing around in wet fields with soggy feet watching little flashes in the sky a little samey. I did used to like the hot sausages and mulled wine part although that doesn't seem to happen so much these days. For a while I thought this was something we did for our kids, but, all the kids I know think it's a bit boring too, they spend the time gazing down at their phones rather than up at the pyrotechnics. I guess firework week (because that's how long it really lasts these days) has ended up being a ritual mostly enjoyed by the grown-up kids, you know who you are ...
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