She has our crushed boxes of wedding pictures and our Christmas decorations - our cheap jewels brought out on a shortened day - a day requiring a ladder .../
This floor is piss-sweated as are those swilled bowls at Cinque Ports in Uckfield... /
Even in the unfair fall of rain on the night - of dis-charged un-loadings - after our torches lit this memorial bonfire .../
She lays fond recall of burning the Pope onto today's bonfires of Lewes .../
It is traditional at this time of year to bring down - from the loft - the bonfire box .../
The Gardener's Arms smells of bonfire of Cliffe boys and beer ...
He's back in the village, but alone in a field where football posts & dog walkers stand..
The unstable season of rookies, fireworks, and Sussex smugglers has set off in Uckfield