It was Bonfire Night. I'd had a lazy morning at home and figured I ought to do something about it. My dad had popped by for a cup of tea and so we made plans for a little adventure inspired by seeing New Year fireworks from a plane.
Stuffing a camping stove, pots and a couple of flasks of hot drink into our backpacks we set off to walk towards Winchester before the sun set.
It began to get gloomy as we climbed the steep steps up St Catherine's Hill. We found a spot to sit overlooking Winchester city centre, lit the burner and began to heat up our dinner.
Fireworks sprung up across the city from around 6pm onwards. Some were just hundreds of metres away while others flashed just above the horizon miles away followed much later by their respective whizzes and bangs.
Filled with chilli, hot chocolate and now a mug of freshly brewed tea we waited until the main event. A huge bonfire in the centre of town leapt over the treetops and licked at the sky. Our spot was far less quiet than the empty hilltop we started on: apparently I wasn't the only one with this plan.
Fireworks from the big show erupted from their base near the bonfire. They competed for our attention with other large displays nearby, not something you'd ordinarily get to experience if you were actually at the display.
The display came to a close and everyone on the hilltop cheered and applauded before making their way down the slippery slope back to the city centre.
The experience was surreal and magical and I got the coldest I think I've ever been. Totally worth it.