One year, when I was little, my dad went to a lot of trouble to make a guy. As I remember it, he sat it in an outhouse for days before the big event and I grew quite fond of it. I was very upset when it came to burning him. I have a funny feeling that we didn't and the guy sat and watched. I don't like the idea -I don't suppose many people do these days- of associating the “guy” with Guido Fawkes. On the other hand, I'm a great fan of making scarecrows (see a previous post, here) and I like the idea of a cathartic ritual repeated year after year (I don't think we get enough of that kind of thing in the UK). Either way, this is a hypothetical line of thought at this end, as we just don't have the space for a decent bonfire.
So, I think I'll be keeping my eye out for a box of fireworks, and a bag full of rockets. Rockets, if you ask me, are the best bit.
Finally, totally off the point:
Making compost takes
longer than writing tanka.
Gardeners who are
impatient should consider
writing poetry instead.