Fireworks & Friends (Bastille Day)

Oh, this experience will be filed under ‘T’ for ‘Things to remember for the rest of my life and to tell my grand children, unless I don’t have any grand children, in which case I’ll tell other people’s grand children, although it might be one of those anecdotes that is meaningless unless you were actually there, in which case I’ll become known as the granny with boring stories.....’     Yes, definitely under 'T'

Truly one of the most wonderful nights of my life, made all the more magical by sharing it with new friends. We sat below the Eiffel Tower and beside the Seine, on a mish-mash of picnic rugs, with a mish-mash of food, a little fine wine and a large celebratory spirit.

 

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Ms Eiffel, dressed in nothing but diamonds, has been cheekily winking at her adoring fans all evening but now she graciously takes the substitute-bench while Sir Night Sky performs. He’s already done an amazing Monet-style sky for us, a little earlier; a duet with Ms Eiffel, but now he’s back, looking very serious in his purple, black. The audience is silent with anticipation.

And then the sound of champagne corks popping, as hundreds of hot rubies and emeralds are catapulted into the night. They leave pink and green smoke smudges in their wake and, as these subside, handfuls of golden needles are thrown to the heavens, trailing silver threads behind, sewing palm trees in the sky.  

The audience whistles and applauds. The exciting smell of gunpowder lingers in the air. Sir Sky aims and fires dozens of shooting stars, each one exploding like bullets of rain on canvas. They reach so far that a new galaxy forms and then just as quickly disappears, each star switching off like the lights of a city preparing for sleep.   

Blazing chandeliers appear in the darkness, floating momentarily and then parachuting into the river below. And other colours smash across the sky, as if all the stained-glass from all the cathedrals has been crushed, for this momentous occasion, and blasted from canons.

There are shots of star dust and glitter, and whizzy whirly things cart wheeling and crackling across the sky for almost an hour, each explosion more colourful or wonderful than the last, drawing oohs and aahs from the audience, until the grand finale, where the bursts of fire come constantly, one after the other and the audience are squealing and clapping and camera clicking!

Then silence, as the gun smoke clouds settle. Sir Night Sky dusts himself off and slowly slips away, leaving the stage for Ms Eiffel, who enters from the right, to light up once more, with her diamond couture, oh so gracefully.