Don't throw Billy Nomates on the fire! (From Northwich Guardian)

Don't throw Billy Nomates on the fire!

10:10am Sunday 13th December 2009

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MS NOMATES and I were invited to a bonfire, or to be accurate, her youngest had been invited and we were tagged on to the invitation.

I was so pleased because I never get invited anywhere anymore. I used to always go to people’s houses twice, once to visit and once to apologise.

It didn’t dawn on me that such a small child had a secret agenda. Where do kids learn to be so manipulative?

He had only offered to help his little pal’s parents to find a Guy Fawkes to go on top of the fire.

To be fair to ‘husband host’ he soon realised that it wasn’t the best idea for me to sit on top of the fire once it was lit, but he suggested that I just might pose for photographs for the children’s albums and then climb down and have a snifter.

He couldn’t do it because he had to ‘host’. Fair enough I thought, I am very obliging.

The kids were absolutely delighted to see a full-sized model begging for forgiveness on their funeral pyre.

Had I been a cross dresser, I might have passed for Joan of Arc but maybe not, she’s a hot act to follow.

There is always one who does not appreciate time-keeping. Skinny brother Nomates is one of those and like a fool I hung on a little longer than was planned while he took photographs of his kids throwing house bricks at me for being Guy the traitor.

How many now wish he’d been successful? ‘Wife host’ explained that I was not the real Guy Fawkes and it was not a good thing to throw heavy bricks because they could strain a muscle in a child’s arm.

She also begged me profusely to stay in place for just a minute while hubby brought out his video camera.

As a bribe she thrust an obscenely large brandy in my bitterly cold hand. I downed half of it before my fingers lost the will to cling on to the glass. A flying sparkler caught it and before I could shout ‘fire’ I was ablaze.

Hubby host forgot all about his previous health and safety concerns when he was suddenly promoted to film director.

His video camera must have thought it was its birthday. It had never been exposed to such action. ‘This was definitely worth sending to You’ve Been Framed and earn two hundred and fifty quid’ I heard him gloat.

Not once did I hear a call for water. Instead it was : ‘Can you hold that pained expression for a little longer?’ ‘No problem. I’m on fire’.

Ms Nomates laughs at none of my jokes. I do believe she is comedianically challenged.

Yes I know. I made the word up, but you get my drift. It was hurtful to see her folded double clutching her stomach and tears of laughter rolling down her cheeks as she screamed in delight.

‘That will teach you to drink spirits’. As in the movies, the sparks from the fire leapt in to the fireworks.

The closest was the box purchased by hubby host. They must have set him back a small fortune because the show was absolutely spectacular, with rockets going all the way to the moon.

As if choreographed the sparks passed from box to box with dazzling effect, each delivering the highest quality in pyrotechnic theatre.

Our little anonymous gift box was furthest away from the fire and so it was last in line to thrill the eager crowd. I am not sure which word to use to describe the anti-climax, but if I make the sound of ‘phut phut’ you will get the picture.

I should have kept my mouth shut I know, but I whimpered ‘I paid good money for those fireworks’.

This gave the game away and some kid shouted ‘Throw more brandy on Mr Phut Phut’. Ms Nomates came to my defence but I wish she hadn’t, ‘Leave him alone. It’s the famous Billy Nomates’. ‘Throw the bottle on him’, came the cry, ‘Mr Phut Phut is pretending to be Billy Nomates’