Hunting for spuds in the embers, the fire brigade coming to one on a bomb site that was scorching a party wall, rogue rockets flying through our feet, jumping jacks leaping all over the place, scrumping for milk bottles, Benwell lights I think they were called (coloured matches, red and green)

I can remember how we used to undo the blue paper on bangers, empty out all the gunpowder and then light them, holding them like a sparkler. They’d pop and the powder would flash when you put a match to it.

I did it in our back yard once, but I hadn’t got all the powder out, there must have been a lump blocking it. Needless to say, it exploded in my hand. No lasting damage, but ringing ears and a blackened hand. I had the shakes for about twenty minutes afterwards!

That Obtiser article raised both my eyebrows.

We used to go chumping, nicking it off other kids bonfires, even if it was in their back garden (we pretended to be SAS and went crawling in)

Our parents let us build the bonfire, then turned up on the night to light it, set off fireworks, and serve food.

On the little stretch of unadopted road we lived on there used to be two bonfires, plus fireworks, 100 yards away from each other.

And I won’t mention collecting my mum’s empty Silverkrin cannisters we embedded in the bonfire. (but they made a very satisfying bang

There was a still-smouldering bonfire in Cottingley on Monday morning (saw it from the bus). Council land I assume. Wonder if the scuffers tried to end that one?

The article seems, to me, to have the Bansturber-In-Chief’s fingerprints all over it. He appears to be keen to crack down on law and order.