Tonight is #BonfireNight, an event that puzzles many readers from outside the UK. What is this festival of anarchy and why do the Brits keep doing it?
Let me try to explain...
Guy Fawkes Night is a traditional re-enactment of naked sectarianism, domestic terrorism, licensed beggary, arson, anarchy and disrespect. It's all very quaint and happens each year on the 5th of November - #BonfireNight!
BonfireNight 'celebrates' the disruption of an attempt to blow up the Houses of Parliament in 1605; a time in British history when everyone hated everyone else due to religion, nationalism and politics that would culminate 40 years later in a massive civil war. Like you do...
Effegies of the plot leader Guy Fawkes are burnt on huge public bonfires to commemorate the event, accompanied with fireworks, disgusting jacket potatoes and moaning about how early they advertise Christmas nowadays.
But the real meaning of Bonfire Night is explosives! We're really commemorating the time when citizens had ready access to military grade ordinance - like we did in the war. It's a special moment when a father first presents gunpowder and matches to his kids...
Another reason we celebrate Bonfire Night is because it's NOT American! Unlike Halloween with it's trick or treating - exposing children to 'stranger danger' and type-2 diabetes - we prefer British children to play with powerful explosives in front of a massive conflagration.
#BonfireNight cuts across Britain's strict class hierarchy; public schoolboys delight their teachers by setting fire to their school, whilst street urchins merrily steal anything not nailed down for a wasteground bonfire - the cheeky scamps!
British parents force their children to stare at the local bonfire on Bonfire Night in the same way Time Lords force their children to stare into the burning vortex of time itself. The results are much the same: no permanent psychic damage ever occurs.
Alas the British fireworks industry, like the British Space Programme, is in decline. Foreign brands now flood the market and whilst they 'say' they will sparkle and delight they rarely deliver. Apparently they blame the weather over here.
Fireworks are of course very dangerous and parents are meant to follow the Fireworks Code: keep them in a biscuit tin and set them off all at once with a lit Benson & Hedges or something. It's hard to read this thing at night you know!
Many people want to ban Bonfire Night: it terrifies pets, threatens wildlife and causes many injuries. These are all valid concerns, and soon bonfires - like asbestos blankets, lead paint, mercury tooth fillings and fireworks boxing matches - will become relics of our history.
Time passes, and many traditions pass with it. After all "It is Guy Fawkes who is remembered today, and King James who is forgotten."
More stories another time...
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The Bawdyguard, by John Dexter. Nightstand Books, 1971.
'John Dexter' didn't actually exist. It was a house alias - along with J X Williams - for a range of writers knocking out cheesy sex pulp for Greenleaf publishing. At least 20% of each novel had to be sex scenes with the other 80% titillation, voyeurism or padding. Not much space for character arcs or a hero's journey...
Greenleaf initially specialized in sci-fi magazines, until they discovered sex was selling better. A number of writers were quietly supplying novels for both scenes. Robert Silverberg, Harlan Ellison and Donald E Westlake all provides pseudonymous sex novels for the publisher.
Case 32: High Marks For Malice (1989). Nordic knits always work and they're great for detectives. Pastels are very flattering but you'll need a good lint roller if it's a long case you're investigating. This is a clear fashion win.
Case 51: A Model Crime (1990). Gold is a hard colour to pull off, but the details are on point here: single button and shoulder pads make it a power look and Nancy has sensibly avoided the '90s waitcoat trend. Another win.
Today in pulp: I try to buy a computer... in 1978!
Let's see how I do.
First things first: in 1978 you might never actually see your computer. Many people used dumb terminals linked to a mainframe or minicomputer system somewhere in the office basement. Access was on a timeshare basis, with dozens of users sharing access to the same system.
If you did have a microcomputer on your desk you were probably an executive. To be honest many CEOs didn't actually know what a computer was or what it did.