Remember, remember...

the fifth of November, gunpowder, treason and plot...

So goes a rhyme we used to chant when I was too young to understand that what we were remembering was an attempt to unseat the British government by blowing up the Houses of Parliament and everyone in it. The plot failed; the barrels of gunpowder were discovered before the explosion, and a man called Guy Fawkes was convicted of treason. And ever afterwards, November fifth has been commemorated – or celebrated, depending on your point of view – with bonfires, fireworks, and small boys hauling stuffed dummies around street corners, not to mention dentists’ nightmares like parkin and treacle toffee, for which I’m sure you’ll find recipes online if you’re interested.

I don’t think November fifth has ever figured highly on calendars over in the US; you guys didn’t much care if the British government got blown up. You always preferred Halloween, and for quite a few years now trick-or-treating, ghoulish costumes and shops decorated with fake ectoplasm have all found their way over here as well. We still do the bonfires etc as well, but Halloween is very much a thing.

I celebrated Halloween in my own special way a few – or maybe more than a few, but I’m not admitting how many – years ago. I gave birth to my lovely daughter, which of course means it was her birthday last weekend, so we celebrated again. With two murders. One guy was bashed on the head with a mystical prism, and the other found himself on the wrong end of a large kitchen knife.

And if that sounds like the beginnings of a plot for a spooky murder mystery tale – well, OK, you’re right, that’s exactly what it was. Daughter, husband and I spent the weekend in a very nice hotel with a small team of actors, who staged the above fictional murders so that we and a few dozen other amateur sleuths could examine the evidence and provide a solution.

We came up with an explanation which fitted with the clues and made perfect sense, but unfortunately didn’t match what was on the fictional detective’s answer sheet, so we didn’t walk away with the trophy, but that didn’t spoil the fun one bit. We all had a great time, and it looked as if the cast were enjoying it as much as the participants. It just goes to show, there’s more than one way to tell a story.

And now I’m off to celebrate November fifth – not with bonfires and fireworks, although I expect I’ll see evidence of a few of each through the windows of the train as it passes through the countryside. And be assured I have no plans to give birth again either; that would require a medical miracle.

No; my celebration of choice this year is a theatre trip, which has nothing whatever to do with plots to blow up Parliament, or people with knives in their backs. But I’m sure it will be fun.

(And now I’m wondering what those guys who, we’re reliably informed by People Who Know These Things, have access to everyone’s online doings, will make of this post. Does their wondrous technology have a means of identifying blog posts which contain the words ‘blow up’ and ‘Parliament’? Can I expect a SWAT team at the door, and shouty men wielding AK-47s demanding to search the boxes which line my workspace? Guys, you’re welcome. Hope you enjoy the books, which are all you’ll find in said boxes. And it is November fifth, after all.)