The clocks have gone back, winter coats have long been dusted down, and Bonfire Night is almost upon us, aka the Loneliest Night of the Singleteer Year. For while the breeders of this world are stockpiling incendiary devices and emergency burns treatments, so lone rangers are wandering forlorn through a desolate autumnal wasteland, dejectedly lashing out at the odd pile of leaves.

It is a popular belief that Christmas is the festivity most lacerating to the solo soul – a misconception that will provoke only peals of incredulous laughter. The joys of evading Yuletide guff are entry-level single living. But, Bonfire Night? Here really is a sacrifice.

Partly its appeal is a pagan thing: it is cold, the year is waning, we light a fire. But there is also no greater salve to the British psyche than reactivating Blitz spirit with a little light pyromania. Plus it is a revelry open to allcomers – anyone prepared to uphold the principle that blowing things up is the best way to celebrate things not being blown up.

Children, so frequently extraneous in a social situation, are at their most beguiling: outdoors, apple-cheeked, their attention deficit disorders channelled into the ritual of A&E visits. While bonfire bashes are the one party occasion at which the procreative excel.

So have a heart, breeders. There is still time to adopt a maraud of local lone rangers. In return for your altruism, there will be people to flirt with, adult will outnumber child, and the guy is likely to be considerably better dressed.

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