I’ve always liked Yorkshire and its people. Friendly, down to earth, straight-forward. Maybe that’s why I decided to support Leeds United when there are probably 20 or so top football teams geographically closer to the place of my birth.
But one particular bloke from God’s Own Country pisses me off every year.
By attempting to blow up our seat of government he paved the way for thousands of lunatics to explode incendiary devices hundreds of years later. And not just on the anniversary of the event. Yesterday, 11th November, a continuous display over 60 minutes shook our village scaring our dog, and no doubt many other animals for miles around.
How many of the participants in the event actually knew why they were there? How many would say they were ‘dog lovers’? And how many of the organisers, if I find out where they live, will have a black bag full of dog’s poo through their letterbox if they repeat the performance?
One day a year, almost fair enough – and this year 5th November fell at the weekend. But no repeat performances.
As a responsible dog owner I clear up my pet’s mess around the village. It would be great to have that consideration repaid.
Guy Fawkes, born York 1570, died Westminster 1606. Burn in hell.