Friday night went to out with Duncan, Amelia and John to see the fireworks in Lewis, a town near Brighton with a long tradition of holding immense bonfire night parties. For a few hours a variety of people in well executed costumes paraded down the streets carrying flaming torches and crosses. The latter were held by men dressed as church officials, and thrown into the river at the end of each procession. Then the crowd would part and four men with wheelbarrows full of burning explosives would sprint down the road. A wonder nobody was hurt – the place was packed beyond belief, and every minute or so somebody would drop a deafening firecracker on the floor nearby. It was quite a sight.
When we tired of that we climbed up the hill to the golf course nearby to watch the display, arriving an inopportune 3 hours too soon to see the display. At 10 we gave up and came down the hill into the town, now miraculously full of delinquent kids having fights. The fireworks started when we were about 100 yards from the car, so we stood by the side of the road and watched from there, and it was quite a show.
Since the weekend I’ve been going around Brighton’s selection of job agencies in search of employment. Some of the staff are very friendly and encouraging but a lot are frankly evil, and have a trademark smile which doesn’t require the use of the eyes. I am, apparently, scum. Unskilled labour. Way down on the social scale from somebody who’s been working in personnel for ten years.
But I have a few interviews anyway. I may be working in Ladbrokes’ bookies this time next week. I think that’s a pretty cool place to work, but I’m not sure my mum will agree.