John Lewis has dropped off...

Little prompts me to write on here nowadays. Something has to stir sufficient emotion (normally "anger" is the one of choice) and I have to have sufficient time (I have a breathing space before Christmas, and everything is wrapped...)

But "FOR FIVE MINUTES....!" (as a colleague of mine says to avoid swearing loudly when it wouldn't be appropriate...) "Hasn't John Lewis dropped off...??" (That's me saying that. Not her.)

It seems to be the only place one can buy a "traditional" advent calendar de nos jours. You know, one without the bit of moulded Kake-Brand-style cooking chocolate behind each door; one where you get a Christmassy picture, not one of something hideous and Disney; one where the small robin/star/(God Forbid) Baby Jesus isn't obscured utterly by some foil and 4cm² transparent shaped plastic tray.

Anyway, I thought I was onto a winner this year, as I'd seen quite a classy 3-D example, having forgiven John Lewis for their advent calendar of a few year back when all the pictures were the bloody same. But the once respected and admired partnership has entered a terminal decline, it seems, and sold me one with two 18s.

I'm not an expert on these matters, but if making advent calendars were a task on The Apprentice, even Stuart Baggs would have worked out that 24 numbers, one of each, was crucial. (Do Amstrad make advent calendars? Just planning ahead for next year...)

Anyway, at this time of year, when peace and harmony become important for several minutes somewhere along the line, I curbed my Aggressive Personality Disorder and instead of marching back to John Lewis and haranguing them, I solved it myself, Blue Peter style. Let's say, in homage to Matt Baker, who should've won Strictly. But didn't.



NB If I'd solved it Blue Peter style in homage to Anthea Turner instead, I could have made the whole bloody thing from scratch. With Flakes. In a layby off the M40.