We couldn't really afford fireworks - they always seemed a waste of money, and anti-climactic, but we liked bonfires. At heart, we were little more than pyromaniacs. We'd have the fire burning away at the top of the garden, and we'd spend most of the night just watching it burn, transfixed by the dancing flames, eating roast potatoes and sausages in a bun.
A few years later, when I was in my mid-teens, me and my mates decided to have a large bonfire on a piece of waste ground near where we lived. We were dredging around for stuff to burn when one of us came across a rotting pony's head, with it's dead eyes staring balefully at us. We figured it must have belonged to Amos, a dirty old man who lived with his stash of porn in an abandoned car on the nearby allotments. We didn't know whether to report it to the police, or the RSPCA, or both. In the end, we decided to stick some bangers in the skull and blow it up. Then we went over to Amos's car and set it alight. He wasn't in it, and it didn't really burn very well, but afterwards we heard that he was more upset by the loss of his porn mags than the loss of the car.