Gunpowder, Cider and Plot

T'is nearly the eve of bonfire night, the air is cold, the ground is crisp and the cider is dry.
This time of year is nearly my favourite, next to summer.
Tomorrow is carnival time. The somerset carnival circuit has been parading their home-made carts for the adoring fans every year since Guy Fawkes messed up his stupendous plot. The quality of the entries varies for year to year, generally they get bigger and give off more warmth. Some have three or four carts strung together and thousands of light bulbs illuminate the streets. (Its enough heat to trick you into thinking you're sat on the beach in Lansagrotte.) Others are less spectacular, but usually make up for that in terms of charm. There is always a one-man band, usually sporting a dog in the back, or a small child with an elaborate costume.
All are judged, but there are a few clubs that win consistently, usually some kind of Disney theme is involved.

Music is another significant aspect of carnival. As people line the streets, the music pumped out from the floats blurs with the next, creating some very strange concoctions. The louder the better for us, my gang of die-hard carni goers. We consist of about a dozen of my friends, my sister's friends, my parents and all their friends. My mum owns a shop on the high street, so has to prepare for an on-slaught of crashers desperate for mulled wine and a view from the upstairs window. Only about ten people can comfortably fit around the window, so the rest of us watch on the street, come rain of fair. It's the best place to be, as we get drunker, the crowd around us seem to want to spoil our fun. We like to show our true appreciation of the floats by singing and dancing along. But some people can't handle us for some reason.
One year Laura (friend of mum and dad's) got rather merry and someone in front of her pushed her out of the way. Laura pushed back. This shoving contest continued for some time, until Laura had had enough and went inside for another glass of wine. Comedy- watching adults behave in such a way!

I have been every year of since I was born, t'is a tradition, a ritual not to be missed. Not only does it involve acting like a prat with your friends and family, it also involves community spirit and fireworks and there is always an after party.
This, I'm afraid, is where things get really messy. We usually congregate at one chosen destination and carry on drinking. Not such a good idea, considering we're usually still with the 'rents. Many a time I've had to escort my (nearly legless) 'rents home in the wee small hours. Not to far to walk, so we're lucky in some respects.
I wouldn't miss it for the world, I will see people I only see there once a year, so you can see why it is so important.
Bring it on, I will report back on Sunday, probably with a very sore head and not in the best condition for a Sunday roast with grandma!

Other highlights of the day included sitting very close to a middle aged woman who fell asleep on the train and could out-snore my dad! I could not stop laughing- Jenny is my witness...
Priceless, as she was very much oblivious to the noise she was making. (And the train took only two and three-quarter hours to get home, god bless Virgin trains!)