Graham Carter - the voice of age and experience

I HAVE thought of a good way of saving the NHS some money.

I don’t know exactly how much they spend on stress relief, but it’s probably a lot, and I reckon they could save millions if, instead of prescribing drugs, they prescribed bonfires instead.

We have had a few of them lately, my wife and I, as part of our (so far) year-long junk rationalisation project (I refuse to use the word ‘decluttering’).

We are at the stage where we are getting rid of all those bits of wood that I have been saving for all 27 years that we have lived at our current address, and which never did come in handy after all.

But getting rid of things is only one reason for a bonfire.

It also provides hours of fun – far better than the telly – and although you stink when you finally go indoors, ironically you feel rather cleansed.

There is something primordial about sticking old planks in an old dustbin, setting light to them and occasionally poking them with a stick.

It unleashes deep and profound feelings that connect you with your long-dead ancestors and Mother Earth, and reminds you of man’s ultimate superiority over the beasts.

After all, you never see a chimpanzee or a dolphin lighting a bonnie.

You are probably thinking that we are doing something illegal, but Swindon Borough Council’s website busts the common myth that bonfires are only allowed at certain times, if at all.

In fact, like most things in life, you can do what you like as long as you don’t annoy the neighbours.

So Swindon Council’s website has very little to say about the law, but quite a lot about not getting into fights with next door about smoke.

Significantly, most of it is about the annoyed neighbour needing to calm down, which is understandable because if you have a bonfire you are feeling happy and contented with life, and not even a furious neighbour is likely to spoil your day.

To keep the peace, you just have to wait until it’s nearly dark and everyone has closed their windows, and ensure that the fire doesn’t get too smoky or set light to anybody’s fence.

I wish I knew, before, what I now know about bonfires.

Until recently I thought the fascination with them was mostly a male thing, as if it was releasing an inner Boy Scout campfire instinct, but if my wife is any indication, women love them just as much.

Indeed, I now finally know how to properly please a woman, which is to give her a box of matches and find her an old piece of wood that she will come to refer to as her ‘pokey stick’.

Three hours of prodding and rearranging the burning wood later, she will have become so attached to the stick that when you suggest it should be tossed into the fire as the final act of sacrifice to the flames, she will refuse to let go of it.

Almost all our wood has now gone, apart from an old pallet that we are saving as a treat for later in the year, and all my wife wants for her birthday is a fire pit to install in the garden.

She got so ‘into’ the bonfire last Sunday, and seemed so hypnotised by its strange power, that if we had had more wood she would have started dancing naked around it.

The council website doesn’t say whether this constitutes a nuisance to the neighbours or not, but they have promised to reply to my email on the subject by the end of the week.