NOVEMBER, winter, Bonfire Night. When we lived at Feniscowles each street had its own fire, and the competition was fierce for many weeks before the fifth.

Everything burnable was begged, collected, dragged, piled up and then guarded night and day.

Oh, yes, we thought it fair game to try and steal other people wood but woe betide anyone who tried to pilfer ours.

My mum was good at making a Guy and he would sit in our front room looking splendid. Other mums made trays of treacle toffee tacky enough to pull your teeth out.

Boxes of fireworks would be studied carefully. Were there enough bangers in this box? Or was that one any better if it had two roman candles and not so many fountains?

My brothers, like all boys, thought fountains a bit sissy, and that I shouldn't waste money on sparklers.

On the big night chairs would be brought out for the women and all the fireworks would be pooled.

When all were happy that everything was OK, the fire would be lit with great ceremony, usually with a bit of help from a little lighter fuel and a lot of strong words.

The pin wheels would be nailed over last year's scars on to the back yard doors, rockets jetted from their milk bottles and the bigger boys would get a clip round the ear for throwing flip flaps at the feet of the sitting women..

The morning after we would collect the spent firework cases, then the ashes would be swept up and the fun was over for another year.

It's odd how the year has a rhythm and, though each generation puts its own stamp on events, patterns persists.

We didn't trick or treat at Hallowe'en - at least I don't remember doing. So I think that's an American import, and of course, like everything else, it has all become very blown up and commercialised,.

I'm just as bad, I'm already putting things away for Christmas and, as for the presents, well they are already being bought.

Every year I say 'Look here', I'm not doing this again it's barmy, buying a load of stuff for folk who don't need it and most probably don't want it but we are programmed into the yearly pattern and there's nothing we can do about it.

It is four years today since Adam, my youngest son, died and it's true time does heal.

You don't forget ever, it's that you learn to live with it.

I've got to the stage where I can talk about him sometimes without the tears starting, and we can laugh at the things he did and the good times we had and I thank heaven there were a lot of those.

Don't think I'm sad, I'm not. I'm just so very glad we had such a great time together. Till next week.