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Some of the fireworks I remember from my childhood, when we celebrated Guy Fawkes night. Potatoes in the fire. The smell of fireworks in the air. Cold.
We used to all watch as my Dad set them off, from the back veranda, until the year a Catherine Wheel flew off it's nail and flew around the ground until it spun itself down my wellington boot. I panicked, ran and tipped a bowl of rainwater over. It all splashed into my boot and extinguished the firework before it exploded. After that we watched from inside the house.