This time last year, give or take a day, I blogged about the firework display in our neighbouring village. It was just as good again this year, but with the added bonus of a clear, windless sky and a huge, bright moon. I have no idea what the soundtrack consisted of this year, I'm afraid, but the assault on the optic nerves was fabulous.
Some of the multiple air-burst pyrotechnics were so spectacular that at this rate, it can only be a matter of time before they get reclassified as cluster munitions. (Insert your choice of ironic comment here, with appropriate reference to religious minorities, multiculturalism and big bonfires...).
And looking back at last year's blog: my word, I was angry about some stuff. 'Spin and revolving doors'; Blunkett out, Blunkett in, Blunk it all about; arguments for the identity card and 90-day detention...
It didn't stop some pretty odious laws getting passed, of course, but it was quite therapeutic. On the other hand, it also serves to remind me how much our elected
leaders trade on the fact that our attention span has been
progressively whittled down to the lifespan of a prawn sandwich. Thanks heavens, then, for Mr Blunkett's subsequent memoirs, which have achieved (seemingly effortlessly) what I could not, in terms of completely discrediting him.
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