Sunday, November 06, 2005


Inconsequential: last night, Guy Fawkes' Night, the Railway Hotel not far from my flat burned off four hundred quid in fireworks, the good flashes, golden and purple rain, and explosions. Yes. Bangs so good they hurt, and triggered the burglar alarms on all the blank-windowed Thatcherite Heathrow-corridor office blocks, setting the RIM building squealing at Axon Software and them bleeping at some other shuttered geekfarm like sheepdogs in the winter night. Standing behind the boozer, a lad breathed in "Ohh...that don't look safe!" with a sort of glee as a rocket as fat as the handle on a tennis racket hurtled by.

A fine way to celebrate the demise of a frenzied religious terrorist and the beginning of 400 years of Protestant hegemony, no? I especially liked the way this insane tribal fire binge annoyed the security systems on those buildings.

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