THERE are people I know who often go out of their homes at night to stare at a dark sky going "Ooooh!"

They listen to a cacophony of bangs reminiscent of Del Boy Trotter's van backfiring or a drunk on drums.

I know, I know. I mix with a strange crowd.

These people are fireworkaholics. they can't get enough of them. Now I have nothing against fireworks as such. I love Bonfire Night displays when everyone gathers for what ought to be a once-a-year thrill. Top night.

But nowadays more fireworks go off every day than pints of milk on Saharan doorsteps. Where's the novelty?

Today they go up on every conceivable occasion. There are fireworks to celebrate sports events, religious festivals, Chinese New Years, summer tourist displays and, it seems, the opening of any paper bag.

Yesterday morning the bangs from fireworks carried on for hours. Revellers should have been exhausted after all their sterling efforts kissing strangers, texting distant friends, trying to remember the second line of Auld Lang Syne, dismissing drunk first-callers and changing channels to avoid hearing Jools Holland holler "Hootenanny" for the 572nd time.

But I'm backing the cats, dogs, birds, foxes and mice in thinking that the frequency of fireworks being let off these days is bang out of order.

And I can't help thinking that there are better ways of spending £100,000 a minute as happened in London this New Year.

Should an inconsiderate dolt wanting to let off a very late-night firework ever ask me for a match, I'll give him one.

The size of his selfish brain and a gnat's nostril.