effigies

Hello, readers

Last night, what involved the Southwark Fireworks Festival, proved the perfect distribution of eating, riding, walking, watching things blow up, walking some more, and riding home. Curry consumed at Shad, near London Bridge, which features beautiful glass plates, trimmed in red, that they promptly removed upon our ordering because, I guess, we did not order the special food that rewards the orderer with being able to keep the pretty, pretty plates. We rode the bus to the park, or close to the park, and then walked with a lot of people, passing down an alley, people hanging out the windows, watching the sky explode with light in configurations resembling spirals, willows, and hornets nests. I waved at some of the people. They did not wave at me. This makes sense because of the aforementioned sky exploding probably distracting them from the ten thousand people passing by and the one boy waving.

In the park, we stood under a tree, still holding onto a smattering of autumn leaves, and watched the pretty lights flashing in the sky, as well as those more earthbound shiny things a few hundred yards to our left what included a carousel and glittering, spinning, swing thing. They played Frozen during part of the fireworks. It reminded me of Vietnam and a boy who said he was so tired of that song and I asked him if he was tired of the song or people singing it and he said, people singing it. He said he actually liked the song. That’s the way of things. You like them, but say you don’t, because.

Someone asked about effigies. Someone in the comments yesterday, and also someone who was me, last night, before I even saw the comments, because effigies. Apparently, they don’t do them very much anymore, and not so much in giant public gatherings because fire bad, protest scary. Apparently, not too long ago, children pushed wheelbarrows around with unlit effigies in search of candy. Which helps explain why Hallowe’en was not that big in England considering they have children carrying around death figures every November 5th, so who needs pumpkins?

We went home by way of a long walk, three of us discussing school, Harry Potter, fandom, fairly rare and beautiful messes of hair and what’s to do be done with them, authors we love, authors we heard about once, authors that wrote whole books about a baseball.

It was a good night.

Happy effigies, readers.

Burn on¹.

ttfn.

[1] Yes, that was horrible. Well spotted.