‘Are you going to Bonfire Night?’

We’re getting in the car when Goobie’s friend next-door bounces up to us – a ball of excitement. Yes, I assure him, we’ll be going in a few hours. After we’ve taken my aunt and uncle on a tour of the area. His mum comes out of the house, dressed for the evening. Bonfire night starts in an hour, she says, and if we want to avoid the rush, we need to leave now. Yikes, we haven’t even had dinner!

So we do what all health-conscious parents do:

‘Goobie, fancy a hotdog on the beach?’

I actually love Bonfire Night. The Uggs come out of the wardrobe, the woolly scarves and oversized hats. And Lordy, the sleeves on last year’s winter coat now come up to Goobie’s elbows! Is there time to pop to Bluewater for a new one?

For me, Bonfire Night marks the start of winter.

This year, I’m suffering from Seasonal Confusion. It’s November, apparently. The temperature has dropped a bit, but I’m still in shorts, t-shirts and the odd hoodie. It feels like a July in England. It wasn’t that I forgot about Bonfire Night. I just forgot it was happening now – in July-that’s-really-November.

It takes Goobie and Matt two minutes to throw on their hoodies and get in the car. It takes me a little longer as I search my wardrobe for an Essential Item.

‘You don’t need a woolly hat, Juju. It’s warm outside.’ Matt has come to find me.

But there’s no way I’m going to Bonfire Night without a woolly hat. It wouldn’t feel right. I would feel naked.

We drive down the road, park the car and, squinting in the floodlights, head for the beach. And hotdog stand. Gabriel and Matt are soon wolfing down massive hotdogs, but I have come a cropper. The only vegetarian option is baked potatoes – and they’ve run out of potatoes. Tummy rumbling, I look around the other food stands. And then I spot

‘MULLED WINE!!!!’

Oh my god, I’ve died and gone to heaven. Who needs food when there’s mulled wine? I get two cups for good measure. After all, I’m hungry.

We take our makeshift dinner across the beach and find a good spot behind the safety barrier to watch the bonfire. The pyre is made of pallets and surrounded by firemen waiting for clearance from air traffic control to light it.

Then WWUUMMFFF, up it goes.

‘I hope there aren’t any hedgehogs in it,’ says a woman behind. She’s read my mind.

Goobie is mesmerised as he watches sparks and smoke curl into the air. I look around to see if I recognise anyone. Apparently everyone is here. But all I can see are hundreds of shadow-faces. Goobie is finishing his hotdog.

‘Go on Mummy, have some of my hotdog.’ My no-meat diet amuses him.

The hotdog is right in my face and smells sooooo nice. And mulled wine isn’t great for will-power. I take a bite of the roll, guiltily enjoying how I can taste the hotdog on it.

A voice comes over the tannoy announcing the countdown to the fireworks. Five, four, three, two, one . . .

Goobie already has his hands over his ears. This isn’t his favourite part of the evening.

FFFZZZZZZZZ BANG. Colourful stars explode right over our heads. Followed two seconds later by a BOOOBANGGGG!

What the hell was that? Then I realise. It was the echo off the cliffs behind me. Awesome!

Goobie starts to cry. I can’t believe I forgot his ear defenders. I pick him up and put a hoodie over his head to muffle the sound. BOOM. The sky lights up, followed by the shadow-bang. Oooooo! Ahhhhh!

WHIZZZZ. POP. POP. POP. Last year Goobie told me he was scared the fireworks would fall in his eyes. These ones are a lot closer.  I talk into his ear, reassuringly.

After a multi-coloured crescendo, the fireworks finish. We sit down on the beach. Goobie digs himself out of the hoodie, looking shaken.

‘Mummy, I didn’t like those fireworks.’ I give him a cuddle.

‘But you liked them, didn’t you?’ He looks at me earnestly.

‘And Daddy liked them.’

‘When I’m five I will like them.’ He sounds so disappointed in himself.

It’s time to Get Psychological.

‘Goobie, there’s nothing wrong with being scared of something. I don’t like flying.’

‘But Daddy isn’t scared of anything.’

‘Oh yes he is, aren’t you, Matt?’ I make eyes at him.

‘Yes, I–‘

‘He’s scared of snakes. Remember Salamis, Goobie?’

Goobie seems reassured and we all cuddle up to watch the bonfire. Some things haven’t changed. Goobie still hates fireworks, I still love mulled wine. We all still love Bonfire Night. But I look around at the billions of grains of sand stained pink in the firelight. The dark Mediterranean is on one side and I can just make out the white of the waves coming to shore. The grey cliffs, that played such a dramatic role in the fireworks display, are in front of us. Above the rhythmic melody of the sea I hear the hum of our neighbours, all enjoying this night. And I think, this is special.