Tuesday 8th May 2012
Everyone loves a bonfire, right? Then I’m no different. But they’re not what they used to be 30 odd years ago.
Back in the day, we were able to blaze up at anytime of the day or night as long as the neighbour’s washing wasn’t out on the line or, at least, if the wind wasn’t blowing in their direction!
We had a patch of grass at the bottom of Mum & Dad’s garden that was left to overgrow, where we lite our fires. In those days, it was standard practice to dispose of anything in the flames from newspapers & broken down cardboard boxes to empty plastic coke bottles & metal tin cans. Literally the whole rubbish bag was fair game. In fact I have a battle scar on my thigh from an airborne shard of burning plastic that managed to land on my bare legs.
Ah, the 70s.
Cooking on the pyre was difficult, owing to the noxious fumes, but not impossible. There was always space for a few foil wrapped potatoes to be thrown into the embers to be retrieved later, shrivelled & nigh on inedible. Nevertheless, we would smother them in butter & eat the charred remains.
Marshmallow, on the other hand, had to be regulated a bit more intensively & so were taken indoors to be toasted by the open fire on long silver skewers. Whereupon my sisters & I would set about cremating our fluffy, cloudlike delights.
Thankfully, some things in life have changed for the better. Gone are the days of only having one rubbish bin in the corner of the kitchen & the liberal attitude towards pyromania in your own back garden. But through it all, the marshmallow has risen from the flames (Honestly, I couldn’t have made that up if I had tried.) & claimed its rightful place as the toasting aliment of choice.
Zephy came up with this idea as we were walking around the supermarket. We all ate them as an afternoon snack. Well, I say we, but after a couple of slightly over-cooked ones he decided that I should eat any he didn’t like the look of, which meant quite a lot.
The single-flamed candle is the best I could do at such short notice.