Liz Truss at the Cenotaph is emblematic of revolving door of British politics: Sarah Todd

Yes, there were still some fireworks going off after 10pm on Sunday night, by then the 8th, but there had been nothing like the nightly noise of previous years. This is no formal study, but could this be a grass roots reflection of the cost-of-living crisis people are banging – forgive the poor pun – on about?

There has been research that shows Britons are protective about their millions of television channels and gym memberships, but so-called niche products – treats which presumably fireworks fall into the category of – are among the first to fall foul.

While a complete misery about the modern-day firework celebration there is a sincere and genuinely meant wish that old-fashioned community events, getting everybody together and held on that one special Guy Fawkes Night, haven’t fallen foul to the hard-pressed public’s belt tightening. It was the yobs with rockets and inconsiderate idiots this reporter was railing against.

While we’re talking about fires, there was irony in hearing the Ivor Novello composed patriotic anthem about keeping the home fires burning, from World War One, over last weekend’s Remembrance commemorations just as fresh revelations about Labour’s latest assault on our hearths emerged in the press.

The proposals, which will hit rural communities hardest, look likely to introduce tighter rules on solid fuel heating and a ban on some older types of log burners, with fines for those who keep their home fires burning. Thinking back to that wartime song, the brightly burning fire was such a metaphor for hope and simple domestic comforts for those soldiers longing to return home from fighting on the front.

Living in an old stone house the only way to get any heat circulating is to light a fire. Turning on the (oil fired) heating is akin to spraying water in the wind. It doesn’t touch the sides of taking the chill off. Like many other country bumpkins we can be sat with polo neck jumpers and fleece waistcoats on waiting for the fire to get going. Because, as taxpayers, we’re currently supporting the world and his wife there is no spare cash to get more modern, less polluting, stoves or whatever is recommended.

The one chink of light if the time comes, when we are all sat around eating tinned beans and listening to battery powered radios thanks to the heads up by our caring Government, is that we will have our fires. Hunting, shooting, fishing, horses racing, family farms; sometimes it seems Burnham’s brigade wants to take everything traditional away from the countryside.

But one thing’s for sure, hell will freeze over before we will be denied the basic human right of being able to keep ourselves warm. On a more positive note, there is something about how our country comes together to celebrate those who have lost lives during conflict that never fails to be incredibly moving.

Reform UK’s Nigel Farage laid his wreath at the cenotaph with dignified aplomb and the Tory leader Kemi Badenoch likewise. Alongside the current incumbent of Number 10 Downing Street was a record number of nine former residents of the famous address.

Sir Keir Starmer, Rishi Sunak, Liz Truss, Boris Johnson, Theresa May, David Cameron, Gordon Brown, Sir Tony Blair and Sir John Major were all in attendance. Perhaps it is just your correspondent, but how Liz Truss (who didn’t even make 50 days in office) has the brass neck is baffling. Surely, for the sake of her party, such a short tenure should be brushed under the carpet. Talking of brushing, normally an advocate of anyone with naturally unruly hair, there can be no defence made of Mr Johnson so spectacularly failing to tackle his barnet.

Right there, in that line up, was such a physical symbol of the revolving door that British politics has become. Talk about here today, gone tomorrow. For decades now, we have been rearranging the deck chairs on the Titanic, papering over the cracks, moving the goalposts, sweeping the big issues under the (fireside) rug.

All this chopping and changing is no good. Forget tinkering around the edges with the likes of bus fares and airline seating; it’s time to clear the forest of all the dead wood.