Remember, Remember...

Bonfire Night is fun for all the family. Unless you’re a family of hedgehogs. Or someone with ears.

Only the British could celebrate someone’s failure to accomplish something. I too haven’t managed to blow up the Houses of Parliament, but I don’t see that credited anywhere.

Our dogs are absolutely petrified by all the bangs and flashes and it’s only a matter of time before one of them daubs the kitchen floor with a massive, watery shit as a result.

I thought everyone was skint anyway? Numb-headed people still find money for fireworks though. They light the touch paper and see a few unimpressive coloured swirls while their numb-headed mates ooh and ahh at the spectacle. And isn’t it hilarious when someone throws a banger into a bin in the park to send a shower of chip wrappers and faeces everywhere?

And the bonfire. Have you got an old sofa you want rid of? Perhaps you’ve also got some unwanted plastic containers too? A highly flammable mattress? Perhaps even an old car? No problem. Just torch the fucking lot in your back garden on 5^th November. Nobody will care.

Even better: find a large public area and dump all your rubbish there. Then you can encourage everyone you know to do the same. Then when you all gather there to destroy the last remaining bit of the ozone layer, some local “caterer” can sell you over-priced pieces of cardiac arrest heaven from a caravan.

Maybe a local radio station can do an outdoor broadcast/roadshow-type thing as well. There’s no better soundtrack to kids melting their fingers on potentially lethal sparklers than a bit of One Direction.

What fun. Let’s do it all again next year.