W ELL, as it turns out, we have absolutely nothing to worry about. We no longer have to worry about doggy-doings besmirching our pavements because some ignoramuses, who class themselves as "pet lovers", cannot be bothered to clear up after their little darlings.

Personally I think instead of fining this recalcitrant few we should confiscate their pets until the owners have been to human obedience classes. Perhaps Barbara Woodhouse could help us out on that one.

We certainly do not have to worry about the Sea-Cat ferry from South Wales hitting a bit of chop in the Bristol Channel next spring. This seems to be a constant concern to another small minority, who seem intent on putting obstacles in the way of anything that might smack of a success story for Ilfracombe.

The Bus Station site? Forgetaboutit! Funding for development of the seafront esplanade? No worries mate! The new look, revamped Fore Street, which could easily put us on a par with Clovelly? It'll never happen so don't worry, be happy.

Wind farms to save the planet from the effects of climate change? All of a sudden they have become redundant, so the shortsighted and narrow-minded but extremely vociferous marginal group who oppose the very concept can stand at ease.

No more concern over Herring Gulls attacking black bags and strewing the unspeakable contents across the pavement just because some people are too stupid or too lazy to cover them. On the other hand they might just be "pet lovers" and find filth all over the road perfectly acceptable. It takes all sorts you know!

No need to worry about the incredible debt you put on your credit card just because it was Christmas. No need to concern yourself with what to do about that awful ornate vase Aunt Agatha gave you. No need for disquiet about the humungous gas bill you are running up during this dreadful cold snap we have been experiencing.

Forget about unemployment, inflation, or the ever-rising cost of keeping your car on the road. Be gone with those doubts about the black hole in your pension fund or concern for the youth of the nation. Throw away your I-Spy book of political correctness and don't worry, just be happy.

And why, you just might be asking, should I appear to be so ambivalent about all the problems besetting us. The simple fact of the matter is we are all doomed and it is not just Ilfracombe I am talking about, it is the whole planet.

On the very best authority of some of the very best astrophysicists in the world we are about to come a distinct cropper thanks to a star, called T Pyxidis, which is set to self-destruct in an explosive supernova with the force of 20 billion billion billion megatons of TNT. Don't try this one at home children.

Although the star is thought to be around 3,260 light-years away — a fairly short distance in galactic terms — the blast from the thermonuclear explosion will strip away the Earth's ozone layer, or so the scientists say. Our total destruction is imminent.

Hang on a minute, this pyxie dish is 3,000 light years away. If I go back to my old school days — a fairly short time in galactic terms — the speed of light is 186,000 miles per second and nothing travels faster. Unless, of course, you want to completely discount Einstein's E = mc². So just how long will this mega explosion take to reach us here in North Devon?

But wait, there's more.

It will become as bright as all the other stars in the galaxy put together, the scientists say. The Hubble space telescope has photographed the star preparing for its big bang with a series of smaller blasts or "burps", as they call them. Could this mean the fate of the world hinges on a bad case of interplanetary indigestion?

These explosions have come regularly about every 20 years since 1890 — of course it might have been earlier but it just so happens nobody was watching at that particular time. Just look at the fix Galileo got himself into! However, they stopped after 1967, they say, so the next blast is nearly 20 years overdue.

Hang on another minute; just exactly what was the massive galactic intervention that altered the stars in their courses and stopped these burps in 1967?

Could it have been the release of the Magical Mystery Tour album by the Beatles? Could it have been the inauguration of BBC Radio 1 and the demise of pirate radio stations? Could it even have been the return of Sir Francis Chichester to Plymouth after his single-handed round-the-world jaunt? Mind you, he wasn't Sir Francis in those days, naturally.

Could it have been the introduction of the breathalyser do you think? Or the unveiling of the Shelby Mustang GT-500 Fastback — a gas guzzler if ever there was one — but hey, who cares about the environment when we are about to be engulfed by the fiery remains of T Pyxidis, which sounds more like something you'd get from a dodgy takeaway than it does a cataclysmic event of biblical proportions.

Of course we will never know the whys and wherefores because the eminent scientists we all rely on to give us the facts just weren't watching at that particular time.

Just to be on the safe side though, it might be a good idea to turn the fire down a touch, cover your refuse sacks, pick up after the hound and pay at least the minimum amount off any credit cards. Let's face it, you can never do better than to hedge your bets a little in these uncertain times.