Wow. I've listened to a few near the mark jokes in my time, I've made a few right wing comments after a few glasses of wine and tutted as the European Union bring in more legislation which gets my back up but never, NEVER have I been a part of somenthing SO politically incorrect and so blatantly British in my life.
For those playing catch up at the back I am ofcourse referring to the Lewes Bonfire night on Saturday. It was amazing. People (including children) marched up and down a narrow high street carrying lit torches (flame not battery) raced barrels of fire over a bridge, dragged burning crosses to samba music and hung up banners saying "Down with papacy". The Ladyfriend and I stood in mouth dropping awe as something so raw could carryon in Blairs social engineered, mollycoddled England. And that wasn't the end of it.
When the street procession ended, each bonfire society goes off and does their own firework display. We went to the Cliffe one (thanks to Coo Coo Coo choo Mrs Robinson for getting the tickets) we waited for the fireworks to begin with hundreds of others in a damp, dark field. Opposite us stood a huge effigy of the Pope. Suddenly I could hear cries of "burn him, burn him" I thought this was for Guy Fawkes (surely the greatest example of why not to fall in with the wrong crowd) but no, it grew louder "burn the Pope, burn the Pope" and "let him burn!"
I expected a thunder bolt from heaven...afterall I'm walking on thin ice as it is...I felt like an extra from the wicker man. I felt alive!
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