(Think about inserting unlucky thirteen joke here)

As I write the words that you are now reading (assuming, of course, that you are in fact reading them, you can never be too careful these days), I am about to sit the first exam of my course. The more astute amongst you may recall that the subject of this course is accounting. Or possibly accountancy. We haven’t learned the difference yet. Speaking more generally, I wonder if I’ll ever learn the difference. Ho hum. That’s probably why I took up accounting. Or the other one.

So, what else has been going on? The sun’s out, which is odd for December, and every street in every town is bedecked with fairy lights and holly, which isn’t.

Now, I’m no humbug, despite the reputation I’ve been carefully cultivating through this column. Christmas really is the most wonderful time of the year, whatever you want to call it. Except “Winterval”. Please don’t call it that. The last thing we need is for political correctness to actually, literally steal Christmas. Then again, that’s not a half bad idea for a schmaltzy and entirely unmemorable holiday film.

…I couldn’t find a good photoshop of a faceless bureaucrat as the Grinch, so once again you’ll have to use your imaginations. Put down your phone and give it a go, you might just be surprised.

One last thing until next week, I’ve just decided to introduce a regular feature – each week I shall include a secret message in a mysterious code, the answer to be included next week. Here’s your first one: “25055 Yugoslavia headband swimming pool Clapham Junction 47258”. If you need help, here’s a clue word – “butter”. Good luck!

One other last thing, I’ve just realised that I’m not sitting on a swivel chair. How did I discover this, I hear myself wish you were asking? Because I tried to swivel around and did myself a mischief on the back-rest.

Next week I shall be singing a couple of octaves higher.

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