Pitch Fawkes

“Remember, remember the fifth of November of gunpowder treason and plot. I know of no reason why the gun powder treason should ever be forgot.” 

Still, Fawkes was the only man ever to enter Parliament with honest intentions.

A lot has happened in 413 years, parliaments today are highly respected, highly paid and monarchs tend to not conflate with constitutional proceedings, policy chaos or of the word of the people. Nevertheless, the term: treason is a byword and such law has been locked in a vault untouched by lawyer hand for neons; granted, this is what comes of having a system that pleases all of our Queen's subjects simultaneously. Gloriously heinous plotting against parliaments or monarchs is a thing of the past; sealed in weirdly sketched folklore, a period when the criminals all look decidedly indifferent, drawn with inky porangi expressions. Fawkes was the guy who allegedly failed to spark the fuse; furthermore, the intentional act was 'treason' even though the mission was thwarted. but I've my suspicions, wearing sixteenth century ruffs automatically hinders hand and eye co-ordination, so it was destined to fail; notably, ruffs are great for collecting stale crumbs for snacks between meals - thus, Fawkes chose to jump to his death instead of being hung, drawn and quartered... for effectively engaging with Robert Catesby, a crazed Catholic, who was displeased by impulse. Yet, the judicial system failed to take the fact ruffs practically disables efficient movement... such as treason. Every November 5th, I wake up imagining what if they had succeeded in their mission... would we be celebrating November 5th by burning replicas of the Houses of Parliament on every bonfire, and for four millennia’s wear ruffs for the parliament's memory sake, why the memories of the chard parliamentarians should never be forgot.  In respect to their memory, the fireworks dare not screech, or bang; but shout out: 'Treason!' And rockets would instead of screeching they'll fizz into the night sky like a cacophony of agreeable oves. - If the plotters had succeeded, the event would enable the mavericks of architecture to reconstruct a new stage fit for a super-power and inadvertently safeguard London from the 'Great Fire' of London a decade later - historical hindsight works in mysterious ways; mysterious as in... emulating twenty-first century Health and Safety policy.

The tautologous ancient rhyme is an irritant to me; by stating remember twice practically is an order to be recalled, whence the fifth day of November approaches; the aim is to pay attention to an act which didn't happen - but the intention was there and too real; imagine the everyday carnage if we recalled every event which didn't happen! Remember, remember, implies a disquietude start of a message; evidently, provoking needless alarm. Well, there's always a chance these days that some ruff attired sixteenth century no-gooders may get hold of gunpowder and embark on a nefarious plot - I expect to see it on the front pages of the tabloids on November 5th annually, see I remembered. I pour scorn at the second part of the rhyme too: "I know of no reason why the gun powder treason should ever be forgot.”  I recall mentioning it at a formal low-key non-banging November 5th four years ago at a venue in Shilton, to an Australian who was business affiliated with Jeff Bezos the CEO of 'Amazon' - "Moore's 'Remember' quote is a poor poetic example, surely he could've come up with something more up to date."  In mid-banger-bite he said: "It's purpose is to be remembered, not to be ridiculed." I nodded thoughtfully, and replied: "Yes, the idiom is remembered;" by which point the 'Night Sky Lanterns' were taking flight on their maiden voyages - a substitute for noisy fireworks per se...  I believe the neighbours were light sleepers, intolerant to reformed arsonists bid to be entertainers.  The Australian admiringly watched the lanterns ascend and stated: "We're all too ready to complex stuff, nearly always the simplest concepts are the most rewarding." I concurred it must've come out of Bezos's box of business tricks, one URL location for all your needs and purchases, named after Earth's lungs (the Amazon) - coherence personified. By the tenth 'Night Sky Lantern' the furthest was the size of a satelite, fortunately the breeze was subtle and the dark blue sky resembled runway markings devised by a drunkard.

Rituals leave me cold, quite literary and I'm including Guy Fawkes night here; they expose our whimsical requirement to mark non-eventful plotting by celebrating a non-event. Fawkes was caught in the parliament's cellar, I can only assume he had night-vision capabilities and not a candle, because a candle would be just idiotic. As Human Kind our masses the quest of a candle light is to elongate our mass into a 'Willow the Wisp' shadow giant - the local bobby that night, didn't have to be Hercule Poirot. Plus, cellars were notoriously creaking of alcohol and to get that parliamentarian cacophony of agreeable oves, I've an inkling the main culprit for over four hundred years is the cellar and a heavily subsidized baaa. The wife of the Australian sidled up to me and turned her nose up at her pink punch - "This is frightful, a Halloween reject;" I made an agreeable audio of an ove... and looked at the last 'Night Sky Lantern' ascend and said, "We're all too ready to complex stuff, nearly always the simplist concepts are the most rewarding."  And I took a quick swig from my dented can of 'Holsten Pils' - she stood silent for a few seconds and said: "You must meet my husband."  Unlike the graceful 'Night Sky Lantern' she hobbled on the moist turf in high heels; making a calculated guess Bonfire Night was going to be held on laminated flooring that year and not on soggy chlorophyll. In the distance, I heard the sporadic popping of 'bangers' obviously the residence afar didn't get the 'no banger memo.' Then again it could've been crisp packets exploding, anything that pops from a distance could be absolutely anything, from old-fashioned gun-fire to an innocent old banger waking up from a long hiatus in the garage. I was thankful for my Mark Darcy Crombie Coat because the heat of the 'Night Sky Lanterns' had left us and were on their way to Westminster; indeed, wishful thinking I know; indeed, 63 miles is a tall order and the pedantic November elements dictate paper lantern destinations. Catesby and the plotters had the same circumstance... allegedly November elements dampened the fuse - persisting dampening elements have ruled November 5th.

My partner had received lurid comments and so we made our excuses and left, this was the normal pattern of events when she was out with me... not helped by rural plebiscites consuming complex concoctions that wasn't given the 'EU' all clear. I remember, remember our discussion embarked on 'Brideshead Revisited;' notably, the common denominator was the cradle to death idea that Catholicism i.e. Catesby (a misunderstood Catholic) has been tarnished with untrustworthiness; Catesby was dead within three days of the failed plot; surely, not enough time for the verdict of treason, going by today's slow judicial system. Waugh's Lady Marchmain in particular found it totally distasteful that the Catholics were automatically casted as being entrenched with espionage claims. There's a definitive view that Robert Catesby in one failed act has inadvertently made people remember, remember the distrust of the Catholics; I concur, the Pope got the burning effigy treatment - our grand master's of literature wrote candidly about the concept of waiting for the 'white smoke' yes, a satirical quest you could say; naturally on a dark night, all smoke is deemed lighter than dark. In retrospect, as a youngster, I didn't respect the 'penny for the Guy' slogan; I configured rapidly that straw in tights attired with hole-y clothing was more deserved of a kicking rather than coinage - And usually. the chosen transit for the Guy was a wheelbarrow; I denoted, it was one flat rubber tyre too grand.

All of the Guys were nothing like the ink-y illustrations, depicting Guy Fawkes either - when I was a youngster this major detail rankled me; Fawkes may have worn tights on a cold November night but I'll hasten a guess he didn't suffer from elephantiasis nor did Fawkes inspire Barbara Euphan Todd straw obsession, (Todd was the creator of Worzel Gummidge). Faceless Guys could've been any guy, my observations tended to get the head and eye roll from my elders. My compromise would be: "If all Guys replicated The Wicker Man (1973) I could at least claim they put some effort into it!"  The 'tut, tut' response would be the introduction to... "You're too eager to complex stuff, nearly always the simplest concepts are the most rewarding."  I slowly took onboard whatever was to be put on a bonfire, it always ended up as ashes anyway; so I deduced the Guy analogy simulates the life cycle. 'You're created, you work for a pretty penny and then you get some wheels, eventually you end up on a mountainous social care system, until that fateful day.'  But, history tells us a different story about Guy Fawkes... he perished in his prime by jumping off a wall; surely, the story of 'Humpty Dumpty' would be for fitting; albeit all of the king's horses and all the king's men... cheered, instead of putting Humpty back together again...

Remember, remember the nearly events churns my stomach somewhat, because the 'nearly events' are in reality worth a tabloid front page headline at best... thus, I find 411 years of remembering, remembering pure hyperbole.  I confess, I've never bought a firework of the premise I hate burning money... literary. Somehow, the word has got out... because for some reason the canine adores me... they look into my eyes and know I don't keep them up all night being all fretful on November 5th.