Come 11:56 p.m. I was behind the curtains, to watch the fireworks on the other side of the Mersey: though the Wirral also provided many illuminating and noisy iterations of their own, many locally.
I watched them, as I would with my Little Mother, the only time she'd ever drink a whiskey (watered.) It'd been our thing.
Dad would goto bed at about 11:00, seemingly making a point of saying how little it meant to his stoic way of life; yet, after 16, my Little Mum and I had 'our thing'.
Now, come the time, I honour her as I do...
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