I WAS meant to have some photos of fireworks to put up, but I chickened out at the last minute because it was raining and I wasn’t sure I’d get decent firework pictures. Turned out as soon as I left it stopped raining and I was a fool – the fireworks were awesome and I could have got some fantastic, apocalyptically awesome pictures.
But I haven’t got any.
Instead I arrived at the fireworks feeling a little bit low and lonely. Not for long though – things exploding have a way of cheering me up. The Town Council produced what can only be described as an epic display this year (although we are renowned for punching above our weight when it comes to fireworks – probably from all that unused money the Town Council can’t be bothered to spend on important things). I won’t describe what I missed taking pictures of though – it wouldn’t do justice.
Instead fireworks got me thinking about all the fun memories I have throughout my life involving them – I’m sure this will make dull reading for anybody who actually reads this but still.. It’s my blog so I’m indulging myself.
When I was young I was afraid of fireworks – so my parents and I used to watch from my bedroom window as the town firework display went on in the field behind our house (and a few rows of other houses). I remember craning to look up at the fireworks; nose pressed against the glass and the lovely smell of the smoke drifting in through the open window.
I remember being 16 or 17 and at my friend’s house for New Year. His dad nailed a set of fireworks to a trellis in the garden and lit it. Of course it fell down immediately and the fireworks shot across the garden towards us, hitting the walls around us as we panicked and hid behind each other – the streams of sparks left as the fireworks shot past us and we cowered, too afraid to move inside. It was a miracle none of us were hit.
Being 19 and taking a girl I really liked to to the fireworks at University, remembering how tiny she felt in my arms and how big her eyes seemed when lit by the lights in the sky.
Being 21 and watching the fireworks from my friends room high above Lancaster. Listening to Shape of Despair as fireworks went off across the city and we imagined the world was ending.
I’m not really sure what the point of this post was – but I guess this blog wasn’t intended to be a photo journal – more a.. journal-journal. I guess the nice thing is that those memories above actually served to cheer me up rather than remind me of how things used to be.
Oh yes, and I love fireworks.
(and Shape of Despair)