Blast Off

Today

More on our New Year adventures in Amalfi. The trip wasn't just confined to wine-tastings, of course. There was also much feasting and enjoyment of the beautiful coast which the Italians, even with their tendency to overdevelop their assets, can't spoil.

We were let into the secrets of Limoncello production, saw a bookbinding demonstration and went by boat to Positano where we none of us got further than the sea front restaurants. We ate all kinds of meals from the fantastic to the mundane and enjoyed an appallingly badly organised concert at the Duomo. We wondered at the frequent but apparently random firing of guns or cannons in Amalfi.

Of course, New Year's Eve was the high spot. We celebrated this at our hotel, the Luna Convento, a former convent perched on the cliffs to the West of Amalfi.

We put on our glad rags and joined the rest for a fair-to-middling dinner. There was plenty of good wine, however, champagne, and good company.

As midnight sounded we gathered on the terrace as the fireworks started. Not confined to Amalfi; the hillsides spluttered, glowed and exploded with all types of fireworks. The ground rocked. Fireworks careered heavenwards out of the sea (how did they do that?) and the harbour wall was a constant flurry of rockets and displays of all types. And there were bangs emanating from everywhere.

I'm a complete sucker for this kind of thing and go "ooh" and "aah" with no embarrassment at all.

In My Day

When we were children, we always celebrated Guy Fawkes night. Our huge untamed Victorian garden was just perfect for this. The fire would be built up over the preceding weeks and a Guy made out of old shirts, trousers and socks and stuffed with newspaper. I don't think that our Guys would ever have earned us many pennies as I don't think this was an area in which our creativity shone.

Daddy always bought plenty of fireworks; selection boxes and extra rockets. Chris seemed to have a preference for bangers and firecrackers which leapt about unpredictably around your feet.

We all had sparklers which we loved to whirl around to write our names in the air.

Idon't think that I was ever allowed to light the fireworks themselves; that seemed to be a boy-thing. I'm sure that reasonable safety was observed, but Daddy certainly didn't make a big thing out of it. Rockets were placed in milk bottles and whirred and hissed around our heads, releasing sparks, coloured stars and spangles. Roman Candles gave us deliciously unexpected pops of colour; I couldn't decide whether I preferred the Golden or silver rain and "traffic lights" were fun with their red, green and amber. Daddy never quite got the knack of Catherine Wheels (whoever thought up that cruel name?), which only occasionally spun round when they should. We sent up a cheer when they succeeded.

The event was utterly satisfying, celebrating Winter and darkness and giving us a splendid stepping stone to Christmas.

We decided to have a few home fireworks at home on Christmas Day last year. Were they really not as good as they used to be, or were my expectations too rooted in childhood fantasy?