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Bonfire weekend is upon us.
Back in the day this used to be a major event, so much so that we used to make a Guy Fawkes from old clothes stuffed with screwed up newspapers and go touting it about seeking 'a penny for the Guy'. Some serious money used to be earnt which was used to buy fireworks (bangers and jumping jacks - long before anyone had heard the phrase 'Health and Safety').
The bonfire was made on the day (non of this nearest Saturday to the 5th), and sited in the middle of the back street of the terrace houses that everyone lived in back then.
We used to have whole family's sit out and enjoy the black peas, parkin and treacle toffee that people brought to eat (we never ever ate them for the rest of the year - just bommy night) whilst enjoying the Catherine wheels that never spun, the rockets launched from empty milk bottles and throwing the odd banger or three at those bastards at the adjoing bommy either higher or lower up the street - most often at them both.
At the end of the night the last thing left to burn was the Guy we had made and once he had gone it was time for us to go to bed whilst the grown ups got the Mackeson's stout out.
Bit of a long winded intro but assuming Guy's are still lobbed on to the bonfire these days - who would your effigy be of?
Back in the day this used to be a major event, so much so that we used to make a Guy Fawkes from old clothes stuffed with screwed up newspapers and go touting it about seeking 'a penny for the Guy'. Some serious money used to be earnt which was used to buy fireworks (bangers and jumping jacks - long before anyone had heard the phrase 'Health and Safety').
The bonfire was made on the day (non of this nearest Saturday to the 5th), and sited in the middle of the back street of the terrace houses that everyone lived in back then.
We used to have whole family's sit out and enjoy the black peas, parkin and treacle toffee that people brought to eat (we never ever ate them for the rest of the year - just bommy night) whilst enjoying the Catherine wheels that never spun, the rockets launched from empty milk bottles and throwing the odd banger or three at those bastards at the adjoing bommy either higher or lower up the street - most often at them both.
At the end of the night the last thing left to burn was the Guy we had made and once he had gone it was time for us to go to bed whilst the grown ups got the Mackeson's stout out.
Bit of a long winded intro but assuming Guy's are still lobbed on to the bonfire these days - who would your effigy be of?
Last edited by Sluffy on Fri Nov 01 2013, 19:20; edited 1 time in total
