It's that time of year... When a few friends feel it necessary to regale ALL the people they think are their friends about how wonderful and nuclear and solvent and academic their families are. All this festive syrup is contained on a cheap, thin piece of inkjet-printed A4 paper, stuffed into their Christmas card - with, of course, a second class stamp stuck on the envelope and 'posted in good time'. These are organized people...

You know the sort of thing. The letter follows a familiar form:

"Happy Christmas to one and all!!

Husband Bob has been terribly busy, which makes him very tired. But was promoted again this year and we are looking forward to his bonus :-)))))). I am keeping out of trouble with tennis lessons, the WI and a part time job at the local solicitors' office. Son Tarquin looks like he will get a double first from OXFORD. All he does is work, it seems, poor lad! Daughter Annabel is lovely and has such a wonderful social life."

When actually the letter should say something along the lines of:

"Bob farts incessantly, never shaves at the weekend, is a brief and inadequate lover and he's really getting on my tits. If it wasn't for the fat pay cheque - or for the fact that the tennis coach is married (and in love, would you believe???!!!) - I would leave the fat, farting bastard tomorrow.

Tarquin is a lazy little long-haired bugger. We had to fight like hell to stop him being thrown out of that third-rate shit-hole "Oxford Brooks" - a place that has the nerve to call itself a university. Ha ha. :-(. God knows - Tarquas hardly seems employable at the moment; smacked out of his tree, or drunk, or both - most of the time. And NEVER bothers to call home, even though we pay his extortionate mobile phone bill for him. Ungrateful waster.

Annabel is a slut and shags anything that moves. Men have stopped looking at me in the street and just drool at her. Little tart. And we suspect she is running the amphetamine and vice business in Croydon. At least she shows some evidence of a blossoming business acumen, bless her.

Happy Christmas? Probably not."

I am thinking of doing my own round-robin this year - so watch this space....

And sorry if you are someone who does write these letters, but hopefully you will now think twice about embarking on your odious annual holier-than-thou epistles to the unwashed no-hopers who you like to call friends. We could all do without them from now on. If you want to write something, write it - to each person - and ask them how they are, rather than be 100% on transmit. For me, this year. No cards, no cheap pieces of A4. Instead, I shall be buying some goats for families in Ethiopia via a dodgy website. Hopefully, the recipients will have some tasty recipes for cooking the pesky critters.

They can be tough when they get a little old.

And so can the goats.

Happy festiveness.