I’ve been asked a couple of times if I saw any nice fireworks displays over the weekend. Well, this weekend was a to-the-inlaws weekend, with Saturday night spent at Infinitarian‘s birthday embarrassment. So actual attendance at any organised let-off wasn’t possible. I do remember thinking that November 5th falling on a Sunday meant it was the tamest I’d experienced in years: there were far more bangs and chirps last night than the night before.
No, the only real display I saw was when trying to merge from the M5 into the M4 near Bristol. I’d windowlened the mirrors shortly before leaving, and so they had promptly smeared up long before we’d got to Gloucestershire. With this difficulty in mind, I was peering over my shoulder and squinting into the wing-mirror when suddenly, to my right as I climbed the sliproad, it looked like the whole of Bristol was ablaze. A dozen enormous rockets had gone off at once, and my blind spot was full of dazzling incendiary. It was a mixture of luck and the gentlemanliness of the existing M4 drivers that meant we were actually able to merge, starstruck and blinking.
When I arrived at BTM on Saturday, the parts of the city I could see were still standing. Ah, well: maybe next year.