‘Remember, remember the fifth of November, gunpowder, treason and plot.’ The time when we turn our quiet suburban streets into downtown Baghdad with fireworks of multiple mortar attack proportions.
We joined in, of course. I arrived home last night to find a large cardboard box of explosives in the kitchen. It measured about two foot six by one foot by one foot high.
“That’s a bloody big box of fireworks,” I observed, stating the obvious. “No,” said Mrs Parrot, “that is ONE firework.”
This monster was originally priced at eighty quid, but had been heavily discounted by Master Parrot’s employer so there was a good bit of change out of forty.
Having lit a bonfire of sorts — bits of wood left over from our summer patio project set alight inside a brazier — with the willing help of Master Parrot, we set the thing off.
About ten minutes of whizzes and bangs followed. Quite impressive it was too.