I don't know if you might be able to remember fireworks with your loved ones when you were an infant. I have patches of screaming rockets and erupting fountains I can piece together. Mine were of Disneyland, and they are instilled once again every time Guy Fawkes Night returns to cold November evenings. The ones that hold you firmly to the ground while its sheer size shakes you into the scale of the sky that they pervade. The ones that knock the living breath from you. The ones that shoot up in the sky and return to earth a dizzying mass of heat and light and colour. The ones that illuminate the foggy sky and cast light as if it were daytime, for just one second.
And most certainly the blue and gold ones.
Music is 'Angels We Have Heard On High' by Sufjan Stevens.