5th November. Bonfire Night. Fireworks. Another of the many events I was still to experience in London town. Despite being here for over three years, before now I’ve been relegated to the sidelines, holed up in my grimy flat, left to watch pissy little rockets fly over the Essex skyline (my bedroom was on the East side). Actually I couldn’t even do that, I had to hear the rockets at best thanks to the fire safety law violating lack of a window in my room. [Someone fetch the violin!] Turns out the sound of fireworks isn’t all too different from the normal sounds of South Woodford.

But seeing as Gazz, in his own words ‘bloody loves fireworks’, this year would see to quell my past ennui.

As I had no prior knowledge of London Fireworks Events, and Gazz has no prior knowledge of London, I suggested we go to the Primrose Hill display as I’d heard someone say those words before. Great then, I checked out when it was on, and it’s planned for Thursday 5th. Perfect. On the actual date. Under closer inspection (and it’s bloody lucky I made a closer inspection!) it appeared the Primrose Hill, despite appearing as a Fireworks event on many websites, was in fact, cancelled years ago, and hasn’t returned since.

We settled for the Alexandra Palace show on Saturday night. It’s a shame it wasn’t on the actual day. I know it’s nicer, especially for families, to go to an event in the middle of a weekend, but it seems like a cop out. Like only celebrating your birthday on the closest Saturday every year. It’s not your birthday! You might as well wait until next year.

Alexandra Palace kicked off at 19:30, so I decided to meet Gazz after work at 17:00, grab a bite, and get there early. Again, lucky I did, because as soon as King’s Cross tube has more than 100 people inside, it seems everyone goes crazy and acts like there’s a fucking bomb! Bomb alarm style annoying siren goes off. Someone tells you over the tannoy, in a calm and even tone, to exit the station as quickly and calmly as possible, which turns everyone with a soul into a blind panic. Grown male tube officials pushing old pregnant women’s faces through walls and throwing babies in prams down escalators to get out a second quicker. When we do finally manage to exit the station quickly and calmly, with blood on our hands (both physically and metaphorically), we hear the reason for evacuation. The same calm, soothing tone is informing people outside the station that it’s been closed due to ‘overcrowding’. There were maybe 5 people tops, more than there should have been down there! Besides, surely at least 50 people were killed in the melee, do they still count?

In a scene that must resemble what the ‘bus routes’ were like in Roman times, we trek, en masse, to Euston Station. As soon as we’ve managed to be kicked down the stairs and onto the platform, we catch a train going in completely the wrong direction for 5 stations in order to avoid the superhub King’s Cross. Once on the correct train, and back heading in the right direction I see a small child sat in a pushchair, and skilfully position myself nowhere near him. But after an influx of what must equal the entire population of Kent, I am pushed right over this kids’ feet (which only now, begin to flail wildly, kicking me in the balls square and true like a fucking rugby ball every 4 or 5 seconds). A man behind me compliments his mother “He’s very well behaved isn’t he.” To which I can only grimace and stop myself from punching him through the door window, suggesting he should try attaching a wrecking ball to the end of his cock, then talk to me about good behaviour.

Half way through the tube journey, Gazz asks me at which station we’re getting off for the 10th time. As this is the first time he’s turned to me and I’ve not looked like I’m about to throw up, and I still don’t answer, he rightly begins to assume I have no idea where Alexandra Palace is. “Why should I? I’ve never been before.” Was my fair argument. His was that I should have checked before coming. Also pretty fair. “Don’t fear” I suggest, “For I have a plan.” He still wasn’t convinced.

Odds are, it’s a pretty big event, thanks to the night’s complications, it’s starting soon… most of the people on the tube would be heading in that direction, we’ll just get off when everyone else does. If that fails, there are a few people who have obviously dressed for an evening standing outside in a cold park (with scarves, gloves, big coats). We’ll get off when they do. And failing that, I saw a man with a ‘How to Get to Alexandra Palace Fireworks Display’ leaflet, so we could always try following him.

Turns out, everyone (including people with scarves, gloves, and maps on how to get there) got off at the same stop, so we followed them out and up the hill until we started following the actual fireworks.

I’d been in a great mood all day that day. On top of that, I was looking forward to the fireworks that night, to getting a nice hot drink down me, and standing in a field for a couple of hours watching bright lights and bangs. Funny how life always finds a way of fuck you over. Gazz and I had already found a nice area to get our look on from. But we were greedy. There was a tree in our way, and we decided to walk a little closer, trampling over a fence into another field. Off the track, there was a small incline people seemed to be walking up. Gazz continued up the incline. Ok, I thought. That must be safe. I lifted one foot, and the other instantly went from underneath, leaving me smack bang on my arse like Bambi on a frozen lake. I even managed to slide down the hill a little, careering into a woman’s legs, forcing her to steady herself (she managed it easily). With my ego a little bruised, blushing slightly, I step up thinking I’ll just wipe myself down, little bit of mud, no problem. No. Right over the other way (on my face). Sigh.

After another trip to the ground, occupied mainly by my arse, I finally managed to get (and stay) up on my feet, and back on to the track to enjoy the show.

After all the Benny Hill silliness, the show was actually pretty good. And fuck it, I may have looked like I’d attached my shower to a horse’s arse, but I was still in a good mood. Plus even Gazz (who’d been pissed off all day) was now enjoying himself.

That’s the power of bright lights and big bangs – and seeing your friend fall into a face full of mud and grass three times.