It's a hard life

I DID think the fireworks at Christchurch Park were lovely.There's nothing better than an autumnal sky lit up by thousands of pounds worth of gunpowder.

I DID think the fireworks at Christchurch Park were lovely.

There's nothing better than an autumnal sky lit up by thousands of pounds worth of gunpowder.

Scarfed and gloved, I popped along to the display to celebrate the execution of a few thwarted Roman Catholic terrorists from the 1600s -who said there was no room for religious persecution in modern Britain?

Along with chewing gum on the streets, rude children and an elongated run up to Christmas, Bonfire Night is one of those things that defines our great nation and despite the presence of an ancient tree which somewhat obscured my view I 'ooohed' and 'aahhed' with the crowd and enjoyed the dramatic display. Can you see yourself on my video at

Of course, from the vantage point of my Felixstowe salon with sea views (distant) I have been able to hear and see all the private displays across the neighbourhood.

The other evening, as I poured a large gin martini for my Cambridge friend Lisa, who has a pregnant cat and is interested in volcanoes, the din from a few doors down was so intense we nearly jumped under the table for fear that we were in Beirut, not the normally peaceful Suffolk coast.

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Lisa, 32, and I went on to paint the town red, which ended up with us dancing on poles in a Felixstowe night spot called Bandbox.

It was an eventful evening. I was recognised by a fan, a friendly care home worker called Kate who got frightfully over-enthusiastic at seeing me - I mean I'm not Elvis am I? I think she had had a few.

Thanks to this ridiculous smoking ban we were forced to queue up a number of times for a wristband, which allowed us a ten minute slot outside talking to Lorraine the bouncer while we puffed at a Silk Cut.

We left in the early hours, after the DJ finally said 'no' to our requests for anything by Abba, and I took all the next day to recover.

What with Hallowe'en, which last week forced me to close my door, turn off the lights and pretend I wasn't in for fear of having to share my toffee apples with someone else's children, and popping along to see singer Rufus Wainwright at the Regent theatre, I've barely the energy to put pen to paper - or finger to keyboard.

I wonder if Guy Fawkes had this much to contend with? And he's been a celebrity for more than four centuries.

A celebrity Children In Need event - at which I wasn't asked to perform - managed to raise more than £10,000 for the charity. Held at Ipswich's Regent Theatre it was full of stars like Stewart White and Ruthie Henshall. For a full review and gorgeous pictures see

THIS Marcus Evans has got a few of my colleagues into a right tiz.

Knickers are definitely in a twist, in the world of East Anglian journalism because no one - not even our fleet street colleagues - has a picture of the man who has shoved a few quid in the direction of Ipswich Town.

He's not playing ball though is he? And why should he? He's only bought a football club.

There is a lesson to be learned though by the likes of Heather-moaning-Macca-Mills and Abi-awful-Titmuss; that you can live out of the spotlight and avoid exposure if only you try hard enough.

I wish they would but I suspect the truth is that for all their complaining, I doubt either of these two women - and I mention them only as mere examples of their type - really want to be anonymous at all.

FOR the Felixstowe-based fans among you I have some good news.

I have started to work one day a week in the town. Joining our Felixstowe editor Richard I can be seen enjoying a lunchtime seafood baguette and typing away at a laptop on most Wednesdays.

So far I have already met a few characters in the town who pop in for their daily fix of the Evening Star.

Fellow Felixstowe resident and Star office receptionist Brenda, who works half days and enjoys sea views (good) from her kitchen window, has made me feel welcome, shown me where the fire exits are, and talked me through the equipment.

She said: “This is our photocopier, it dates from 1987 and is really a work of art. It's nearly an antique.”

The ancient machine struggles to work at speed.

Brenda - who is happy to tell you her life story if you ask, took a degree in mathematics and music and used to be a teacher before running her own haulage business added: “Its rollers are sticky, to use the technical term. There can't be many photocopiers this old. If there's a fire we'll have to rescue it.”

It's a strange request but could I appeal to Queenie, a lady fan I met recently in Hamilton Road, to give me a call or pop in to see me. I lost her number you see and can't find it anywhere.

Does your office have an photocopier older than ours? Do pop in and tell me and Brenda, we'd love to know.

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