Squeezing a line of ketchup on my hotdog, I tucked into the feast laid out on the table.
Yet, with sticky fingers tapping me on the shoulder, I was in demand.
‘Is it dark enough yet?’ my daughter Rosie-May, then four, and son Christian, then six, asked, looking outside.
Gathering at our friend’s house for fireworks night on 5 November 2017, we had an annual tradition taking place.
Buying a box of explosives at our local firework depot in a nearby industrial estate, we then bought plenty of snacks to hold our own firework display, socialising with our friends, just like we always did.
With Christian being autistic, he wasn’t a big fan of crowds, so a quiet get together, with colourful fireworks at the bottom of the garden was the perfect solution.
Rosie-May certainly wasn’t complaining either – especially with candy floss on offer.
And with the
