On the weekend we went to a CCO party at Hywel’s place and, it being (nearly) the 5th November, fireworks were involved.
Alan had originally planned to bring just a few sparklers along but once he got to the firework shop he couldn’t resist purchasing a small arsenal of rockets, roman candles and something that looked like an anti-tank mine. Sanchia also brought some rockets along so there was no shortage of things that go bang.
We were a little nervous about setting off these things in Hywel’s fairly small decking at the back of his house, especially the ones with directions to light the fuse and then retire at least twenty-five metres away. But the ghost of Guy Fawkes was smiling on us and it turned out that Dylan was a qualified fireworks technician so everyone sat back and let him run the show. He assured us that they only say twenty-five metres in case the thing tips over and starts strafing the onlookers with white-hot pyrotechnic stars but it was ok because we were putting them in a big pot filled with cat litter.
It was awesome. Especially the anti-tank mine. And by awesome I mean, you know, terrifying.