Ria Bacon: editor & writer

Linguist with wanderlust,
From the hills of New Guinea to the halls of the Sorbonne,
From the beaches of Bassam to the fields of Friesland,
From the catacombs of Rome to the Blue Mountains of Jamaica.
From the heather of the Veluwe to the dust of Dakar ...

Currently resident in the Land of Sea with a small tribe of kids and Mr B.

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Wrangling with fireworks

We ventured into the village yesterday to get the traditional New Year’s delicacies, olieballen and glühwein, essential ingredients for a gezellig evening by the log fire. On every street corner stood gangs of slouching and sullen yoof, sniggering and swigging beers, SMSing with a mobile in each hand, while at the same time lighting bangers from their cigarettes and tossing them into the road (that’s multitasking for you.). Some of the fireworks they threw were so loud that you couldn’t hear anything for a couple of seconds after the explosion. Amazingly, our three-month-old slept through it in her pram.

When we passed the sole shop in the village licensed to sell fireworks (actually a bathroom fittings store), we were amused to see a couple wrestling a huge cardboard box of fireworks into a tiny car that seemed to be held together by rust. It reminded me that the lower, or more “popular”, the neighbourhood, the louder and more frequent the explosions, in other words, household income is inversely proportional to expenditure on fireworks.

After a couple of glasses of glühwein, I came up with the following formula:

Fireworks formula

where

x is the household income
y is the quantity of fireworks bought
a is the number of “bangers”
b is the number of “sissy”, decorative fireworks
z is the decibel level
n is the number of males in the household
c is the number of crates of beer consumed
f is the number of fingers left on 1 January

… I know. Blame it on the glühwein

Related posts:

  1. Making light of New Year
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  • PLK

    I loved your formula, looks a bit like the work of the mad professor. This was the nickname of a member of your household when said member was a preteen.
    What I really blame to the glühwein is olieballen. This loosely translated means oily bollocks.