Guy Fawkes may only be famous in North America as the bloke that Hugo
Weaving patterned himself after in /V for Vendetta/, but there's a whole
series of traditions that are associated with him in the UK.
First of all there's the near constant fireworks for nearly 2 weeks.
Then there's realizing that there are only 2 displays are actually
publicly funded. The rest are just guys firing them off in their
backyards. Or at other people. Or on the bus.
So tonight taking the little furry one out for his last evening pee
before bed meant that we walked across the street in a pea soup of
smoke-fog that smelt slightly of sulfur and other crap with bits of
wadding floating in it.
And all of it to keep alive the memory of how wonderfully tortured to
death this one guy was 300 years ago. It's a wonderful way of saying
"No, we don't want Catholics to think they're humans in this country,
let alone about participating in public life." To this day the Royal
Family (not The Royle Family) are forbidden to either be Catholic or
marry a Catholic.
So here we are smoked in and the dog looking like a PTSD'd WW1 vet
watching /Saving Private Ryan/ --/ The Harrowing Bits /cut when he goes
out for a whizz. And before somebusybody decides that he's gotta check
and find out that Guy Fawkes wasn't tortured to death or how long ago it
was, I just can't be bothered to look it up with the ringing in my ears.
The Eternal Gaijin
Lost Somewhere in Wandsworth, London
"Words Cannot Describe What I Am About To Tell You."