Unreasonable to deny the joy of fireworks

I like fireworks. Indeed, it must be said that I prefer fireworks to the kinds of domestic, inbred, highly-strung dogs that we increasingly see carried down the high street. These unfortunate creatures, victims of the whims of fashion, retain little of their vulpine heritage beyond their tendency to yap aggressively at larger dogs and, perhaps, seek to gnaw the ankles of innocent passers-by.

A consequence of the cruel inbreeding results, sadly, in a nervous nature that sends the sad creatures into paroxysms of quivering terror whenever they hear a lusty firework’s bang or the backfire of any nearby combustion engine. Certainly, we must have some sympathy for these Frankenstein creatures but I think it’s unreasonable to deny the traditions of fireworks to celebrate, not only Guy Fawkes day but also Diwali, Chinese New Year, the births of children and so on.

Beyond the traditional reasons for fireworks celebrations might well - at some time in the future – be the levelling of pay rates for women and men employed by our Ashford Borough Council.

According to the gov.uk website, here ’...women earn 78p for every £1 that men earn when comparing median hourly wages.’

That’s 22.5% less; not, perhaps what we might have expected from our ‘forward-looking’ council but I’m sure they will be able to produce an argument to show that this is fair.

Are Mrs. B and I the only family to have our refuse bins nicked?

For the second time since the inception of the current scheme, our orange-lidded food-recycling bin has disappeared on collection day. It seems unlikely that the chaps who do the job will just have chucked the whole thing - bin and contents - into the lorry.

I phoned the council and was asked to leave name and number for a ‘callback’ service. The following day, an understanding lady phoned me back and invited me to collect a replacement.

Last Sunday, I decided to use part of the remains of the splendid shoulder of local lamb to make curry. I was out of ghee. Eventually I was able to buy a tin from the magical shop at the bottom of the High Street. It brought home to me the cosmopolitan nature of Ashford when the owner told me he stocked foods from 113 different countries.