"You know Daddy. Someone tried to blowed up the King."
"Is that right? The King?" I say - mildly confused.
"Yeah - and that is why we have fireworks Daddy."
"Wow Fintan - you learnt alot today at school. Do you know who tried to blow up the King?"
"Yeah. Guy Fawkes. He's in heaven now."
I was wondering exactly how school was gonna cover up the torture and subsequent excruciating death - but the "he's in heaven now" solution seems to hold up.
With exactly this sort of highly educational background we set to work on Saturday night with enough weaponry (I mean - legally available fireworks) to sink the Bismark ten times over. Collectively - we have a couple of hundred quid's worth of serious firepower to send up into the night sky.
We place all the kids and sensible parents inside the conservatory - they are cold but safe. Sarah lines up a front row of seats for the kids just like we're at the cinema.
"Guys...I'm not sure this is a good idea..." says Sanjib.
"You what?" says Chris.
"Eh?" I ask.
"We're far too sober."
It's true. Lighting fireworks after only a few beers has clouded our judgement. I have filled the bin from the toilet with water and brought it outside for a start (Just in case a stray rocket hits one of us slap-bang in the face). This is far too risk aware.
"Sarah!" I yell indoors. "We need more beer!"
We move onto a wine and beer chaser combo and this livens up events. Steve comes over from across the road and we give him some lighter fuse to play with.
Sensibly - Chris assembles all of the fireworks into the garden wheel barrow. Sanjib momentarily questions the sense in four men lighting fireworks in the pitch dark using nothing but a pin-sized LED that Chris holds in his mouth to light our path.
I issue out lighters and we test-light them. Check.
We hammer a few rockets into the ground and away we go.
"On the count of three lads..." I warn them before utterly ignoring my advice and instantly lighting my fuse.
"You said Three! You said Three! You B*stard!"
"There's no time...run! Run...F*ckin' run!"
And lo - the fireworks 2010 in-house extravaganza is underway.
We soon realise that walking away from the badly angled firework without turning back is a necessity. This will save our face from third degree burns.
We stand in the cold biting drizzle-misery and congratulate ourselves on our efforts.
"These fireworks pack a fairly decent punch eh?"
"Yeah - well I didn't even touch anything less than a five on the Bangometer," says Chris sagely.
And there-in lies the key. Every firework worth it's salt has a Bang-o-meter. 1 to 5. What a flipping great job - rating fireworks on the Bangometer. It is a job my mate Chris was born to fill. One day - one day I'm sure he will. If only he could master Mandarin.
It's early in the night when the first near miss strikes. A rogue rocket - blown off course by a freak gust of November wind and a badly planted plastic rocket launcher whizzes off into the nightsky in a trajectory roughly directly in our path. Four middle aged men stand holding beers failing to move as a lit rocket lands centimetres from the giant F*ck off Wheel barrow filled to the brim with enough firework explosive to leave a small hole in the ground where Chester used to exist.
Typically - we play the incident down..."Woooooahhhh...that was close...right...the kids want Catherine Wheels - quick - hammer some into the Climbing frame - we're losing them...we're losing them..."
Later that night - I feel invigorated with the sheer unadulterated joy of blowing things up for the sheer hell of it. We head indoors and set up an impromtu kids disco before discussing the merits of Wagner winning X-factor and whether a thirty foot super-sized toxic anenome could ever defeat a giant squid in a fight. I miss these conversations. And wonder if a Mump badger (if it ever existed) would truly beat a Polar Bear in un-armed combat. Perhaps we'll never know.
By Wednesday - Declan is hooping and coughing like Dot Cotton after fifty ciggies and Sarah and I end up tag-teaming in bed with him for the next few nights. Does anyone know when I will stop having to go to bed with a bloody child roll-out-of-bed protector attached to my king sized bed? There is nothing - nothing more confusing than getting stuck on a giant barrier every time you try to get out of bed in the middle of the night. It's like a stair gate - but in your bed. It's a flippin' nightmare!
Seriously - if only someone would invent the inflattable air bag carpet. Just a millisecond before the baby falls out of bed - the carpet senses and automatically inflates to protect the fall. Could make the carpets fairly pricy - but it would at least ensure a quiet nights sleep.
In the meantime - feedback from the book is positive. One of the girls at work even reported back that her hubby switched off Match of the Day to finish Dumb Luck. Can there be a higher accolade? Can there? Surely not. Surely not.
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