In an email today my mum told me about how my little brother’s friends all went into town on fireworks night and got themselves into a spot of trouble “startin’ on people” and the like. This really takes me back to my youth (my younger youth anyway – I’m still a youth).  In Winchester, like in most UK towns, there’s always a massive bonfire and fireworks display on Guy Fawkes Night. When you’re younger this is an awesome excuse to stay out late in town, which is, of course, the ultimate life goal for a 14 year old from Winchester. Oh the good old days.

One particular year really stands out. I must have been in year 9, the year when suddenly everyone gets switched on to drinking and thinks it is the coolest and most outrageous thing ever. All I can really remember from that night is one of my friends asking a tramp to buy us alcohol (which they did) only to have a policeman make us pour away this sacred beverage. This was later followed by a 20 minute walk home to a friend’s house where two of the girls I was with (given the confidence from a sip of Malibu) decided it was a great idea to shout abuse at some local ruffians. Oh, how we ran! It was very very funny but we were genuinely scared for our lives and ended up taking refuge in an old lady’s house – not sure whose brilliant idea that was!

That incident was kind of our fault, but I had other friends in town that night and all of them encountered similar (but unprovoked) problems and some got quite badly beaten up. The rumour was a load of Eastleigh “chavs” would come down to Winchester every Guy Fawkes Night for some posh kid bashing… But, besides that, there’s something about Bonfire Night just brings the violence out in people. I’m not sure what it is; perhaps it’s all the talk of fire and burning at the stake? It’s a pretty weird holiday if you ask me.