On Saturday I saw the fireworks display at Battersea Park. We timed it quite perfectly, in position with 15 minutes countdown, and excitement was building… But WHO was the DJ?! First he attempted to engage with the toddlers in the audience (I hope?), by asking who’s mummy was embarrassing them this evening by trying to wipe their nose; these, however, were not paying attention, while as adults we all felt thoroughly disengaged. Five minutes to go, and he piped up again with the helpful suggestion of blowing one’s nose on a leaf. WHAT?! Thankfully he didn’t have to play for time very much longer, as the medley of pop classics carefully chosen by Wandsworth Council proclaimed the start of the show. Well, actually there was a bit of a false start; a just-audible tune and a few half-hearted jets of flame appeared, tantalising; lights overhead – everyone’s neck craned back, but it was a plane. Confusion – and the cynical suspicion that perhaps we are too old for fireworks because this just wasn’t exciting enough… Then Labrinth erupted from the loudspeakers and the display properly began. We wondered idly how fireworks actually work. I think it better that I don’t find out; it would be very sad to kill the mystery and the magic. The ones that explode and then all the little sparks go corkscrewing off by themselves, squealing – they are especially good.
In order to maintain the sophisticated cultural edge that I had hoped to cultivate on this blog, I include some pictures of fireworks that I like: