Travellers’ tales Son number three departed from eastern Europe well over a week ago, which was very pleasing news for me. He is now backpacking in the land of some of his his distant forebears, England. We have heard via several SMS messages of his progress, and even had a half hour telephone call. These are apparently very inexpensive from “cafes” which specialise in cheap international communications. Even so, after a half hour on the phone you tend to run out of things to say. Or at least I do. I did remember to tell him that since he left Venice in early October, the swamp upon which it is built had risen above street level.
When I learned he was in London I sent him an SMS on some things I didn’t want him to come home and say he hadn’t seen. These were the British Museum of Natural History, the Science Museum, the Victoria and Albert Museum, the Imperial War Museum and the Greenwich Maritime Museum. I had looked up the websites of all of these and discovered they now have free admission. Wow!
Furthermore he would be there for Guy Fawkes night and there were some pretty spectacular goings-on planned. In most parts of the civilised world you can still buy domestic or “garden” fireworks. Britain especially seems to be a haven for the sophisticated pyromaniac. Lots of manufacturers. One can still buy all the sorts of things I remember as a kid here in Western Australia, that is until the do-gooders banned them.
Penny bombs, Double Happys, Tom Thumbs, Roman candles, Catherine wheels, sky rockets and Jumping Jacks were accumulated in a cardboard shoe-box kept under my bed for months before the big night. Each item would be lovingly fondled many times in anticipation. Usually a second shoe-box was needed. All my kids throughout their lives have been obliged to listen to my animated stories of these former thrills at this time of the year, and so even though they have no personal experience, they have had instilled in them an insatiable desire to “light the blue touch-paper and stand back.”
When son number two was in Bali a couple of months ago he discovered fireworks were on open sale. He and his girlfriend indulged in an incendiary orgy one night on one of the beaches. A passing local had to explain that sky rockets need to be launched from an empty bottle.
So with son number three in England for the big night, I fully expect him to also be able to contribute to the wistful family anecdotes about bonfire night from now on.
Last night was a pretty tame affair here. The only thing we Western Australians are allowed to buy now are sparklers. Zzzzzz! So after it became dark we let the kids have them. A bit of fun while about 60 or so were ignited. I suppose the discarded wires are now scattered throughout the garden. While the insubstantial display was taking place I managed to get a whiff of that delicious smell of burnt gunpowder. Mmmmm! Better than napalm in the morning.
After we had run out of “safe” sparklers we went inside to watch TV. Julie Andrews and
The Sound of Music. Someone at Channel 7 has a perverse sense of humour.
Apart from son number three smelling of real British gunpowder today, I am not sure where he actually is. He has “done” the museums of London. On Tuesday he had gone to Bath to check out the Roman ruins, and we also had an SMS that he had been to Stonehenge. Been there, done that. Sadly for him, his romantic affair with his girlfriend has concluded amicably. This is probably good news for all the other young women of Australia and England.
He says that the price of food is pretty steep for the backpacking traveller over there. Much more expensive than here. So we are expecting to behold a lean specimen when he returns early next week. Might treat him to a decent slab of rump steak, eggs and chips to remind him he is home – and that’s just for breakfast.
© MMIV Paul R. Weaver.
About the writerCheck out the index of my "common-man" monologues about survival in 21st century Australia – plus a little history occasionally. An original essay is added most days.
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