Guy Fawkes

Inspired by the comment string on last post (my article on Halloween some how incited a discussion on “Cracker Night”), I thought I would formally introduce the non-familiar with the magical wonder of:

Guy Fawkes Night

First off, here is an introduction to the big guy himself, care of Wikipedia:

“Guy Fawkes was a member of a group of Roman Catholics who attempted to carry out the Gunpowder Plot on 5 November 1605.

The plot was an attempt to assassinate the Protestant King James I (James VI of Scotland) and the members of both houses of the Parliament of England, by blowing up Westminster Palace during the formal opening session of the 1605 Parliament.”

Now here comes the interesting part of this Historical anecdote – not the fact that they conspired to blow up Parliament, but the fact that they actually got caught. Keep in mind that this all kicked off 400 years ago, so the Law Enforcement wouldn’t have been the CSI Juggernaut it is today. This was the 17th century for fuck’s sake. The local Police Force consisted of a bunch of guys with sticks whose main agenda was to check under the bridges for Trolls and Goblins. You’d have to have a pretty fucking non-discreet conspiracy in action for it to be unearthed by the cops. But alas:

His activities were detected, however, before the plan's completion. Fawkes and his conspirators were executed for treason and attempted murder. Guy Fawkes' failure is remembered with Guy Fawkes Night (also known as Bonfire Night or Fireworks Night) on November 5.


Criminal Buffoonery aside, the British know a great chunk of History when they see one, and they decided to celebrate this night annually from a very early stage. In the early 17th century this usually included such events as throwing potatoes at Prostitutes and the "running of the Orphans". Of course, the festivities kind of petered out later that century when everybody in London caught the Plague and died. In more modern times, the Guy Fawkes Celebrations are marked by drunken Off Shore Sailors firing fire works from their anuses and rupturing their colons.

Traditionally Guy Fawkes is commemorated with this Famous Poem:

“Remember remember
The Fifth of November”

The irony here is that none of the locals ever actually recall what day they should be celebrating Guy Fawkes, they just know it is some time at the start of November. So it is not uncommon to hear fire works on the first of November up until, well, last night was the 13th and I could still hear the little bastards outside squealing and letting off fire crackers. I lay in bed silently wishing they would blow their hands off…

Battersea Park had a Guy Fawkes celebration on Friday the 3rd (remember remember the 5th…er…4th…ah fuck it), I gave the party a miss but I knew a few punters who went along for the festivities. Apparently it was an hour wait to get in and out of the park due to the sheer volume of people, and they were slugging a 5 quid entry fee (£5? I could get a joke off Vampire Kid for that money!). But they said it was all worth the effort, as God knows you can’t see a 1000 foot high Sky show unless you’re within the park walls. Bah.

British Halloween

Halloween has come and gone in the UK, and like the last few years was bit of a non-event. The British populace’s approach to the holiday is as lackadaisical as the Australian one. Blockbuster may have a “Spooky Colouring In Contest” and the local bakery may whip up a few cookies shaped like Witches – but that’s usually about as involved as the city gets. If anything, the festival seems to be an opportunity for the local thugs to put rubber masks on their kids and go around the pubs yelling “Trick or Treat” and demanding money from the patrons.

I was at a pub during Halloween last year with Mule and some other guy who had been dossing on our couch for a week (and I’ll be damned if I can remember that fucker’s name) when a ten year old kid came up and sat at the table we were quietly drinking beers at. The kid told us “Trick or Treat”, and that he was dressed as a Vampire (which consisted of a black T-shirt and jeans. No make up. No fangs.) and that if he told us a joke we were to put five quid in his “Goodies Bag” (which was in fact a plastic jug). We weren’t interested in any school yard humour, and politely told him to fuck off.

Then he told us the joke anyway. I can’t recall the actual joke, but I distinctly remember thinking at the time “you unfunny prick”.

Vampire Kid then held his hand out and yelled “5 Quid!” We reminded the little bastard that we had declined his God Awful offer and asked him to go away. The kid didn’t budge, pushed his hand further out, and said while glaring his evil little eye balls at us “I told you the joke, now pay me. 5 Quid”.

Now we started to get a little nervous. Because if there’s something to be scared about in London, it’s the children. Not the Muggers, not the Hooligans, the Let’s-go-and-slash-somebody’s-face-and–film-it-on-our-mobile-phones children. And we had one of these Godless little British Bastards in our face demanding money, and he wasn’t looking like he was leaving any time soon.

I only had a Tenner on me, and was about to nervously ask for £5 change (but would have accepted a second joke if the kid couldn’t break a ten) when a scruffy looking woman came in demanding where Tim had got to with her plastic Mixing Jug. Vampire Kid (aka “Tim”) shot us one last death stare, skulked off with his irritated parent, and we were saved.

And that, my friends, is my British Halloween anecdote.

(Side Note: At time of writing, the Vampire Kid’s joke had a cost price of 9.5US Dollars, 12.3AU Dollars, 34.6 Malaysian Ringgits).