Lewes Bonfire Night

Alright, what the fuck is happening right now? I thought I was just going to some cozy little English town for a nice autumn evening, have a pint or two, maybe see some fireworks. You know, like a normal human being does on Bonfire Night, right? You light a couple sparklers, maybe burn an effigy of Guy Fawkes because, I dunno, 400 years ago some guy tried to blow up Parliament. Seems reasonable enough. But this—this is some medieval, batshit chaos I’ve walked into.

There’s fire everywhere. I’m not talking about a cheeky bonfire in someone’s garden either. People are marching down the street like they've been possessed by some pagan fire god, waving burning torches like they’ve been waiting all year to set the whole town ablaze. Did I time-travel into a witch-hunting mob, or did the whole village just agree this was fine? And holy hell, are those kids holding fireworks? Who lets a kid run around with explosives? These people are handing out Roman candles like they’re candy at a bloody Halloween party!

Oh, fuck, there goes another explosion. What is this, a warzone? Is it a fireworks show or a grenade practice? I’ve seen football hooligans cause less chaos than this. And who are all these people dressed up like... pirates? And soldiers? Is this meant to be historical, or are they just bored and looking for a reason to cosplay as murderers from centuries ago? I swear I just saw a man dressed as Napoleon. The fuck does Napoleon have to do with anything?

Jesus Christ, what’s that smell? It’s like gunpowder and burnt wood, but mixed with the deep-fried stench of questionable food stalls. There's a guy over there selling what looks like a charred sausage. The thing looks like it’s already been through a war itself, but people are eating it like it’s a Michelin-star meal. Am I the only one questioning everything right now?

And then I hear the chants. Oh brilliant, they’re shouting stuff. And here I was thinking they’d maybe just light the bonfire and be done with it, but no, they’re bloody yelling about Guy Fawkes and popes and I think I just heard something about the Houses of Parliament. Look, I’m all for a bit of historical reenactment, but this feels more like some kind of cult ritual. They’re not just burning an effigy, they’re burning several. One of them looks like a modern politician. Isn’t that borderline illegal? I’m not even sure I should be here. Can I get arrested just for standing near this? No one warned me I was going to attend the closest thing to a riot that British society allows.

God, I need a drink. There’s a pub up the road, but I’m honestly terrified to walk through the crowd again. I’m gonna get singed or trampled or, worse, handed one of those bloody torches and expected to join in the madness. Every other person’s got this wild look in their eyes like they’re one step away from setting me on fire just to complete their pagan bonanza.

Why did no one tell me about this? I thought the English were all tea, politeness, and avoiding eye contact. But now I’m thinking this is what they’ve secretly been waiting for. One night of the year where the gloves come off and it’s time to go feral. Fuck. I’m never trusting an Englishman’s definition of “just a small bonfire” again.