As I stood watching a load of poxy fireworks last night, I couldn’t help wondering what life would be like had old Fawkesy and his crew not been thwarted. Also, given the state of our morally and intellectually bankrupt political system, I further mused over whether or not we should really be celebrating it.
For this year’s annual bombardment I found myself trying to predict the probability of being hit by a falling rocket given that when you stepped outside there were so many fireworks it felt like (I assume) being in real warfare.
Where there’s blame there’s a claim, but this is surely not a good sign.