Aftermath

Stepping out, the smell of smoke hangs in the morning air, plastic cones and tubes and sticks are littered everywhere. Another Guy Fawke's night has gone, bombarding all the senses the night sky sounds and looks just like the Moscow air defences. All year we're told be clean and green for the environment but every November the fifth, I don't know where that went. Keep down the noise, respect neighbours, can't say fairer than that but once a year under the bed I try to calm the cat. If laws are put in place that we can ignore once each year then maybe, come this New year's eve I can, and without fear, ( although my missus likes the fact my love for her I hog) go find some boozy ladies for a real good drunken snog.