Remember remember the fifth of November gunpowder treason and plot..
The old poem from school certainly seems to have been forgotten because bonfire night seems to have mutated into Bonfire fortnight.
Our autumnal traditions seem to be stretching over longer and longer these days, with folks walking about with hatchets sticking out of their heads and listless zombies and bloodstained nurses populating the streets from the middle of October.
No sooner has the last unclaimed trick or treat mini Mars Bar and Tangfastic been chewed over, the first £75 beat-your-neighbour Airbomb blasts are to be heard.
It started in earnest on Friday and for once I was glad torrential rain dampened the fuses for an hour or two.
Bonfire Night itself was on Tuesday and there will still be fires and firework displays all the way into next week. Unfortunately this playing fast and loose with the calendar isn’t such a blast if you are a cat or a dog.
The phone hacking court case isn’t painting a pretty picture of the reporting practices of certain journalists.
But what is it with this voicemail obsession?
Voice mail on my phone is something I rarely use, if at all.
And when I do use it is just to leave a polite three second message for the other person to ring me back.
Nobody I know ever says more than a couple of sentences either. It’s much better and cheaper to text them and I sometimes discover voicemail messages which I’ve left unanswered for months.
So how is it that the masters of the darker criminally-inclined arts of journalism allegedly manage to glean all sorts of information from the messages left by celebs, royalty and the like?
Why for the sake of argument, would anyone conduct an argument about a wedding ring using an answering service, rather than ring up your potential spouse face to face.
And how could you manage to have such an argument? -By leaving brief terse messages like a game of verbal table tennis?
In the real world the use of mobile phones and technology is making an actual private conversation between two people seem a bit quaint these days. The general public isn’t queasy about airing its mucky washing in public.
Some people either think that because you can’t hear the person you are talking to - you can’t hear them either.
So they shout and bawl into the blower about their private financial affairs and sexual prowess in the middle of the street or how they peed themselves in a nightclub last night when they’re sat behind you on the bus.
Who needs tabloid scandals when you can get better entertainment by earwigging in a cafe?