Last year, we saw Great Britain do fireworks to popular theme of Men and Women. (Shania Twain sings; the fireworks go off. "Damn (whoosh!) I feel like a (zapp!) woman (bang! Whoosh! Fizzzzzzzzz!") This year it is Portugal that we see with our two dear friends, and I cannot tell you if it was better or worse than Great Britain because it does not matter. Why? Because it is fireworks, and fireworks are probably the best thing in the world, better than cake or the thought of Sting with his tongue caught in a mangle.
An hour's journey back on a bus and a metro and walking and walking picking ash out of our eyes, gunpowder off our clothes and bits of plastic out of hair is all worth it, every scrap, and should I ever need fireworks I shall phone Macedo's Pirotecnia ("The Sky Is Our Limit") and ask them to "do the business".
* Update!!! Nearly 24 hours later, I feel something in my eye. Is it grit? Not it is not. I pull my lower eyelid down and there is a - I gag as I write - a burn on my eyeball (under the iris bit) and on the lower lid where the hot ash has flown in. It is very weird and vomit-making, but no harm done. I am sure that, in no time, I will recover and my monkey eyes will be out and probing the darkest corners of the universe to bring you, my adoring readers and/or fans, reports from the "frontline" of the mundane.
Pip pip!
2 comments:
Uuurrgh, poor you and your poor eye! I poked mine on a tv antenna when I was about 10 and the eye doctor insisted on describing the wound as a "flap" on my cornea, which flapped about every time I blinked. Now there's an enduring image.
Smashing fireworks photos!
Fireworks are very nice indeed EXCEPT when shot of by neighborhood morons at 2 a.m. directly outside one's window. I was going to add a bit about how they're nice when not viewed in a fog as we did every year in California but actually that was rather sweet as we'd all climb the cliff before sun-down, admire the clear skies and natter about how THIS year was going to be the year, watch with stoic fortitude as the thick fog rolled in over the ocean and then spent the next two hours going 'oooh! aaaah! Was that a pink one do you think or was it green?' and sipping at wine.
On the other hand, no one suffered the misfortune of a burnt eye as the humid air effectively muffled any fire-type stuff. It was a bit like a early 20th century nanny firmly sitting on its charges and pronouncing, 'now we're not going to have any of THAT nonsense' as they obediently and quietly allowed themselves to be smothered.
Post a Comment