Remember, remember

I used to think it was cool that my birthday was a holiday in the UK. Then I went to York on a day trip and learned what Guy Fawkes Day is all about. Now, living in the UK, I am in the ridiculous position of looking forward to my birthday (I have always loved birthdays, I don't know why) and yet dreading "Bonfire Night". In fact I dread the whole fortnight starting at about the 29th of October. That's when the neighbours starting playing with fireworks, and "Fraidy-Dog", aka Desmond, starts cowering under the furniture and refusing to go walkies after dark.
Of course, it's really bad on the night. The loud booms are beginning to frighten me now, because they seem to be coming right through the wall about a foot to my right. I never appreciated so much living in places where personal fireworks are illegal until I lived in a place where they're permitted. Just give it a rest, will you?
I am 51 now, by the way. Thanks for the e-card, Joani. Thanks for going out and getting me ice cream, Lewis. And now, if this temporary lull in the noise means that next-door have used up all their exploding toys, I'm off to bed.