Today is the 8th of November. There are still forty seven days until the annual greed fest of Christmas. We're not yet even half way through the month before the one in which we celebrate Saturnalia/Yule/Baby Jesus' official birthday/Tesco's bonanza (delete as appropriate for your own beliefs/feelings/attitudes).
But - there's always someone (or some organisation) at the head of the queue for getting the Christmas cards written and sent. How very organised of them.
All of which brings me to the winner of this years' "who-can-get-a-card-delivered-to-Millbrooker-Towers-most-unseasonably-early" award.
This very morning our postie plopped a little envelope addressed to yours truly onto our doormat and lo! 'twas from St Luke's Hospice, a fine and worthy institution, wishing me a Merry Christmas and would I like to send them some money?
I'm not averse to sending money to St Luke's; it's a favoured cause of mine and Mrs The Millbrooker's and it's most kind of them to remind me that I have yet to do even the tiniest thing towards Christmas shopping. But at least I now know that it's 47 days to go before we all sit down to roast venison and get to drink the good stuff that's hidden under the stairs.