What's up with the national psyche?

I've lived in the same neck of the woods for several decades now, and it's been my habit to go for a run of an evening for 30-45 minutes, particularly on Saturdays.  I have half a dozen or so standard suburban-street routes in winter, when the woods, parks and fields are too dark and muddy.  Given the odd weekend away in November, I reckon I must have been out sometime between 5-7 pm on Guy Fawkes Saturday at least 15 times, probably nearer 20.

I have never witnessed so many November fireworks from the ground[1] as I did today.

It's so noticeable, it's enough to have me writing about it.  And at 20:22, the evening is yet young - I can hear it continuing outside.[2]  I will eat my winter running-hat if the sales figures don't bear this out. 

What's going on?  Has the price of a decent-sized box of fireworks collapsed this year?  Demand surely can't be that price sensitive.  Is it sheer joie de vivre at being shot of Starmer and Reeves?  The pyrotechnics must surely have been procured before Trump's drubbing.  Is it how people react when times are looking grim?  A fin de siècle, or even an end-of-times phenomenon?  And what will New Year be like?[3]

Any corroboration?  Any theories?

ND

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[1]  The best, most widespread Guy Fawkes display I ever saw was from the air, flying into Heathrow, low across London east to west, on a very clear evening.

[2] Thank Heaven we don't seem to have adopted the baleful Scotty tradition of using the occasion to attack the emergency services.

[2]  A couple of years ago we suffered something akin to the night before the first day of the Somme, when two of our neighbours were feuding and decided to assault each others' respective NY parties with fireworks.  We were finding wooden rocket-sticks for days afterwards.