it's beginning to look a lot like christmas ...

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If you are British you will be aware that the fortnight {that's two weeks, America} of the celebration of a bunch of blokes failing to blow up parliament is now halfway through. For the non-British, this is waaay better than any festivals or traditions your country may have. Just imagine if you will, the delights of a fortnight {that's two weeks, America} of near constant flashes of bright and sparkly lights and the loud explosions. Oooh! Pretty, like living in a kaleidoscope. And the bangs! The whizzes! The screams of childish happiness. Aaah! Wood becomes a sacred and expensive commodity at this time of year. Bonfires will be lit in neighbourhoods both for the annual burning of the Guy, and for the self-sacrifice of the hedgehogs who have unknowingly bed down for the winter in their own funeral pyre. Guy is - of course - Guy Fawkes, some geezer who was caught red-handed in Parliament's basement, up to his eyes in gunpowder. As we explosively dance around the bonfire hear our cries of Burn him! Off with his head! Traitor! Terrorist! We collect pennies for him, as we are a polite and respectful nation. But we keep them for ourselves. And we drink scalding hot tomato soup and half-cooked burgers. And we laugh at the cowardness of our pets, as they cower under beds and behind doors. Wimps! Over the next few nights the fireworks will become fewer and further between, but the stench of fire and explosives will live in the air for weeks, gradually being overtaken by the invasive aroma of cinnamon and other Christmas spices. And finally, exhausted and satiated, the world struggles back to normality. But the children never forget the rhyme they are taught in primary school ... "Remember, remember the fifth of November, Gunpowder treason and plot. We see no reason Why gunpowder treason Should ever be forgot! Guy Fawkes, guy, t'was his intent To blow up king and parliament. Three score barrels were laid below To prove old England's overthrow. By god's mercy he was catch'd With a darkened lantern and burning match. So, holler boys, holler boys, Let the bells ring. Holler boys, holler boys, God save the king. And what shall we do with him? Burn him!" Toodle-pip!