Raining Fire from the Skies upon the Heads of our Enemies

Drizzly day, and the promised firework extravaganza is here again. This is the Municipal display, not a domestic one, traditionally held on King George's playing field in Cosham, right in front of the giant hospital. In the past we have taken Poppy, bought many flashing plastic items that last 8 minutes, and tried to lose Jof in the heaving crowds.
The first thing I do when I get home is ditch my schoolbag for my servant to deal with, and flop in front of endless TV programmes of a certain quality. For some reason he has got wise to this and ordered an hours' reading.
However I am also wise and accomplished the task in this fashion.
Railing against the unfairness of it all - 3 minutes.
Choosing which book to read - 3 minutes.
Renegotiating the task to half an hour - 2 minutes.
Distracting him by asking about globes - 4 minutes.
Complaining about the writing style in the book - 3 minutes.
Declaring I was hungry so would only do 15 minutes - 0 minutes.
See? Thought I was stupid, did you?
Then Ben arrived for no reason at all and was abandoned by his uncaring mother who wanted to watch programmes without Bens' interference (Benterference). This was wonderful for all concerned. Jof came with us and we parked on Military Road and walked across the bridge and under the motorway right to our target fence.
We had time to abuse the bonfire-lighting people who were rubbish. I've lit fires better than they did. Eventually they got it going and we did the thing where you shine a torch up your nose and tell ghost stories. There was a good 20 minutes of fireworks and 2 chocolate bars each and no toilets for Jof.
At the end of the display we complained that we'd seen better, and walked back the way we'd come with 25,000 others and each had a wee in a bush, another advantage we have over Jof.
All the way home we quacked and laughed at the 'Diary' I'd scribbled when I was younger and all my numbers turned out backwards. (O, 1, ɀ, Ƹ, 4, Ƨ, ȸ, Ɂ, Ȣ, ρ...)