V for Explosions

So last night was bonfire night - the one night that sticking a firework up a cat's behind may pass as legal. Or not, but it's the closest you can get. In fact, for stoners it's almost definitely the most confusing night of the year as the colours explode into life with ear-shattering bangs to crazy techno music and dodgy cover versions of Disney classics. It's also the night that dogs everywhere decide to run rampant around houses and small children cower behind their parents in fear of the explosions. But what's the point?

Everyone knows the story: Guy Fawkes, a small man with a massive agenda, tries to blow up parliament and fails, gets caught and consequently set alight. But why celebrate this with MORE explosions? I don't mean to be a kill-joy in any shape or form, but Fawkes' ashes are probably spinning with rage: "If they can blow stuff up then why can't I?" Talk about having double-standards! I suppose he was a terrorist.

You could say that fireworks are a family friendly spectacle but it's only a spectacle if you've got upwards of a grand to send soaring into the sky. It's guaranteed that your splash of cash will only be remembered because the biggest and best firework set fire to the 700 year old oak tree in your back garden. Personally, I think it would've been more of a spectacle to have let Guy Fawkes blow up Big Ben, at least then a time traveller could film it and put it on YouTube. The film V for Vendetta proved that this would be an event to remember. The rest of it pales in comparison to the rousing finale.

As I've already touched upon, there are issues that the stereotypical family will have to deal with: the parents seemingly aren't allowed to enjoy bonfire night because if they do their kids will never let them live it down. They'll hit 18, leave home, then file a law suit against them saying that they tortured them with loud noises and bright lights with smiles on their faces, and that the sticks they bought set fire to their hands. Whilst all this is going on their Doberman is at home tearing up their furniture, smashing their glasses and destroying every television set in the house in a state of uncontrollable fear. Sounds like a pretty expensive night out in the long run - and that's without mentioning the fact that there's a thief rummaging around their underwear drawer and stealing anything of worth whilst they're out.

Maybe I'm being too pessimistic about the whole experience? I admit that I do enjoy the displays, but at the same time I feel that it should be moved early spring. Think about it, everyone who attends a public display ends up covered in mud and cow pat from standing in a sloppy field, and they end up leaving with hypothermia because it gets so cold. If I was Mr. Bonfire and I had a say I would certainly move it to a wonderful evening in April. There's enough daylight to help you find a space to stand away from cow poo and there's no chance of slipping up in a mini swamp because it's April - our new summer.

I'm also over-looking the unavoidable community spirit at such events. It's not often that masses of people from all cultures gather together to share an experience, so that in itself is quite breathtaking. It's the only time we see Cameron's fabled Big Society coming into fruition, and it's not like it's his work causing it, it's a 400 year old tradition. Then you get the inevitable spew of local 'celebrities' appearing to press buttons and pose for photos. Usually they're from a local radio station, but you tend not to remember who they are when your mum shows your partner the photo of you, seemingly willingly, having a photo with the anonymous man. Anyway, this tends to get everyone talking and a bit excited.

So you're probably wondering how I spent bonfire night? Seeing as three of my neighbours are burning money and and setting the sky alight with colours and sparkles, I did the sensible thing: I sat in my room in the warm and watched out of my window. I wasn't struggling for breath through smoke, nor was I burning my hands or putting myself in danger by being too close. And the house was safe because the dog's locked in the hallway where there's nothing to destroy, and the thief's knocked out and tied up in the attic.

Okay, FIRST OFFICIAL LECTURE

HI EVERYBODY. Right, that's the pleasantries out of the way now, so we can embark on the 'nitty gritty' - namely that I had my very first lecture!

Well, it wasn't exactly brain-engaging but what can you really expect? After all, it's only the first official day of term. The lecture served as a brief introduction to Key Concepts, a Media Studies ran course that seems to question everything about the media from who wears what and why, to who's sleeping with the head of the advertising agency to get the best deal for their 'respected' publication.

Really though, this is just the half-way point, as in 45 minutes I have to attend my first seminar, which, as a vague guess, I would imagine contains some useful information and is merely little more than an introduction to one of the key themes of the course. Apparently advertising agencies are evil; they're killing Blue Peter's dogs and slaughtering innocent old ladies who try to buy their items. Target audience 'n' all that.

I'm currently sat here in the Learning Cafe on my lonesome, hoping that someone from my course will appear, presumably with a god-like light surrounding them, in my time of need. Hopefully they could offer me some of their student loan because typically, mine did not arrive on time. This would have been a mere hinderence as I'm not exactly spending my money on food and bills, but I need a new pair of glasses (mine fell apart at the park and ride earlier) and there's a very important product (that all the advertisers have drummed into me that I need) hitting the shelves on Friday. Fifa 12. I'm told it's the best football game ever and that it makes the 'beautiful game' at least eleventy thousand times more beautiful. Not that they say that every year, of course. Regardless, I've fallen for it.