9th of November (9.11.13, odd number sequence already picked up on by some American mathematician) and I'm absolutely fed up with Christmas advertisements.
I don't care if my sofa can't be delivered for Christmas, or if Ant and Dec - or was it Dec and Ant - choke on their Morrison's battered prawn, or if Aldi are flogging an equivalent Harrod's £20,000 hamper for around £500, or whether Clinique have developed a special Christmas method for parting women from even more of their money, or that the American J Crew store has opened in Regent Street in time for Christmas and is positively ripping off the idiot shoppers happy to pay same amount Sterling for a Dollar-ticketed piece of Bangladeshi crap.
I don't want to buy exclusive Disney Christmas items (although Mickey Mouse and Christmas have become frighteningly synonymous since Jesus has been relegated solely to Christmas Day Church services only), neither do I want to save £1 Tesco stamps on a card to lighten my Christmas shopping bill. I do not think John Lewis will bring me the spirit of Christmas and don't for one minute believe that Next have made Christmas shopping even easier for me with their one-stop Christmas Shop.
What I would like to see is the poor, harmless and totally inoffensive homeless lad who sits in the tunnel outside the Longfield Suite in Prestwich succeed in finding a job and improving his life (I know for a fact his recent history has caused this unfortunate situation rather than any lack of willingness on his part - he does need help).
Bah Bloody Humbug!