It is a widely accepted fact that Christmas is the time to be jolly and merry. Widely accepted by all, that is, apart from the British government apparently, who keep trying to put me off my tea.

The current road safety advertisement is the bane of my life. Seriously. I do not like blood and I do not like guts. Being told about some poor blokes rib cage piercing his heart in graphic detail is not my idea of a jolly time. I have had to resort to closing both my eyes and singing at the top of my voice throughout the minute or so the advert plays.

And the worse thing is I wear my seat belt. Every sodding time. The advert has absolutely no relevance to me whatsoever and yet persists in spoiling my dinner.

But I’ve gotten wise to it. I recognise the opening few seconds of the advert. Sometimes, I even manage to change the channel in the nick of time.

But the government was not done with me yet.

Nope, a few days ago I heard the familiar voice of the chubby one from Peep Show coming from the TV box. He makes me laugh, so I focus whilst munching on my spag bol.

Needless to say, it was a rookie mistake. The soothing, comic voice of David Mitchell is actually the rather upset voice of a dog whose insides are spilling out onto the television screen in front of me. What’s worse, the dog’s insides are rather reminiscent of the spag bol on my plate. I think I could forgive it if it was an advert against animal cruelty, but no. It is an advert informing people of the general nastiness of cocaine.

Now, at the risk of sounding very very uncool, I have never, ever taken cocaine or any related substance. So, once again, my dinner has been totally ruined by an advert which has absolutely no relevance whatsoever to my life.

And then today, what do I see as I ate my savoury pancake? A man drinking his coffee and reading his newspaper. Lovely. A past-time I can relate to. I like reading the paper and drinking coffee. So far, so good.

Until the voice-over goes into vivid detail regarding the fate of this particular cup of coffee, which is destined to give some unsuspecting toddler third degree burns or some such. And whilst I may enjoy reading a paper and drinking my cup of coffee, I do not have a child and so am putting no small person in danger.

Yet the government persists in making me sit through this.

Frankly, in all three cases, only a complete and utter numbskull would not know these were the likely consequences of their actions. Why do I need the government to tell me not to do things which, in all honesty, I should have enough bloody common sense to do in the first place? And, most of all, how much money is being spent on ruining my dinner every night?

I am slightly irate.