The strange case of the everlasting bonfire

The bonfire burned and burned, choking out black smoke, and when my headache got so bad I could barely see straight, I decided I would have to look into it.

I say this at every year’s end: I am so tired of fighting. I sometimes wish I could lose this supernatural gift I have for attracting causes, unearthing conspiracies and refusing to take the official line. It’s not a gift, it’s a curse.

‘I see dead people,’ said the boy in that film about ghosts. I see problems, underneath the surface of everything, no matter how shiny. It drives me mad. I wish I could become normal and believe in what things look like on the outside. But I came into the world suspicious. I was born a cynic.

This bonfire in a field next to where my horses live gets lit every bonfire night for a fireworks event held by a pub which borders that field on the other side.