In an effort to wring a story, rather than juts a list of hates, out of this thing.
When I was about 7 or 8 there was a pub near where I was growing up, it had a beer garden, a climbing frame and I spent many a happy summers afternoon there with my family and some of their friends. A warm glass bottle of coke with a straw and a bag of Chutney Flavoured Space Raiders (And why they don't make those anymore is a question up there with 'how did the universe really start? and 'Yeah, but HOW big IS infinity?' in terms of it's sheer unanswerability as far as I'm concerned) and I would be happy as Larry. They held Family Fun days (ah, the early 80's when taking a 7 and 5 year old to the pub for a day out wasn't seen as a sign of degenerate alcoholism) and barbeques and I loved that pub. And I loved petting the Donkey in field next door and feeding it dandelions and grass from the flat of my hand. The kind of memories where everyday seems sunny, even though it can't have been.

And in November, they had fireworks, a big crackling fire, potatoes wrapped in foil and thrown in the embers, games, sparklers, fancy dress competitions and a very impressive (at least to my memory) firework display with all the appropriate oohing and aahing and clapping and general appreciation. I loved it. At least the first year I did. The second year, I was there, wrapped up like a happy cute kid in my scarf and puffer jacket, munching on my food and waiting for the fireworks when I spied lonely Mr Donkey in his field. Why, thinks I, I am having fun and eating and Mr Donkey should be fed too, and wandered over, unattended and shoved my half eaten burger, clenched between my fingers through the fence. He sniffed, he nudged my hand and...nothing...he didn't take it. OK, Mr Donkey, I understand, you want soem nice Dandelion leaves don't you? And I picked a handful, shoved my hand out and...the fireworks started...and I started watching, absent mindedly holding the laves bunched in my hand rather than with my palm out as an impatient donkey clearly though 'fuck it, I'm eating' and bit down on a tasy mix of flesh, bone and greenery.

I screamed, I cried, I yelled and shook and snot flew and tears fell and people started and the fireworks were suddenly no longer the centre of attention. The screaming child whose parents clearly couldn't control was. I was in agony and the world was going to know it.

The irrational part? To this day, I hate fireworks with a passion, but have no problem with Donkeys.
( scarpe We Stole Bikes, Thu 31 Mar 2011, 16:57, 3 replies)

Nicely done.

( number5 has been fighting tramps and losing., Thu 31 Mar 2011, 17:00, closed)

tl dr
I have an irrational hatred for verbose qotw answers ;P
( 4Q just lurking, Fri 1 Apr 2011, 1:07, closed)

I hated Space Raiders
Tomato flavoured Snaps however where full of win (and 3p a bag I recall).

Nice story though
( snee held his breath since, Fri 1 Apr 2011, 10:56, closed)