It used to be Bonfire Night, now it seems it's more like Fireworks Week. A steady splattering of noise explosions, randomly fired in all directions by kids barely old enough to hold them. This year there were two gangs of shooters on both sides, so rather than hide on the boat, sitting targets, we went out to stroll the hood and see what was cooking.
Across the way it looked like there was a proper display going on in the park up the hill, so we trundled off up there only to find a few kids running around with lit rockets in their bare hands, so we abandoned that idea and headed back towards Kings Cross. On the other side of the bridge there seemed to be a relatively organised session of shooters and a handful of people watching along the bridge. Cars seem to have the biggest fright, driving along, not knowing where the next bang will come from, I'm amazed they don't swerve across the road.
We ended up in Kings Cross Place and bumped into one of Jam's friends and chatted about various things from the Eskimo throat music concert he was about to see to cycling across to Portugal for the Boom psychedelic music festival.
Such a relaxed place to hang out, we almost forgot it was Fireworks Week but finding remnants of burnt out rockets in our letterbox on our return home duly bought it all back down to earth. Glad to have survived day one of Fireworks Week relatively unscathed, we huddled down for a cracking good night's sleep.