There is something quite Lynchian about a bonfire in the back garden. Maybe it's the unexpectedness of a great big blazing fire in the middle of an ordinary suburban garden. There is certainly something a little spooky about seeing everyday objects transformed by flickering flames and wobbling shadows.
We had a whole heap of dead branches, leaves and thorns building up by the back wall just crying out for a good burning. So while my in laws were over, Big M and his father took charge of setting light to the garden rubbish. His dad manned the hose, while Big M poured a cocktail of accelerants over the pile. The rest of us stood well back with baited breath.
I thought the hedge across the back was going to catch and I was torn between thinking "Yipee! Finally rid of that montrosity!" and "Oh my goodness! The neighbours will skin us alive!"
Fortunately the garden and house escaped unsinged.