The back windows of Howat Street and Govan Road overlook the antics and some people hing oot the windaes watching in relative safety. A pall of smoke hangs over the street giving it the air of a war zone.
Rockets whizz through the sky, Catherine wheels crazily spin tacked to trees, golden fountains, silver waterfalls, roman candles, electro-storm . . . where are the jumping jacks? Outlawed by the spoilsports, of course.
The fire is hungry and must be fed. All night, boys are busy fetching planks, headboards and bed bases, wooden chairs, a goodly number of mattresses - singles and doubles, a couple of coffee tables and finally a well stuffed armchair that looks very comfortable. Someone will be looking for that tonight. Shouts and yells resound. A lone police car drives down Rathlin Street, weaving in and out, the polis looking out, half interested. The aerial cctv camera at the junction of Govan Road is trained on the festivities - hope they're enjoying it too.
We take a wander through the smoke to Dino's at the far end of Shaw Street. The staff are watching a Polish TV programme whilst waiting for customers. The chips are great; salt and vinegary and warming in the damp chill of the night.
By half eight the crazy mob are on the street, launching rockets out of canisters carried over their shoulders like bazookas. You could be in Afghanistan! Time to make a sharp exit.