Using any excuse that springs to mind - work, prior commitments, beri-beri – frankly, whatever achieves the desired end - you may escape being dragged to the pre Christmas sales. However, undaunted by your lack of enthusiasm, your (much) better half, bright eyed and purse in hand will inexorably be drawn towards the nearest retail park. If you’re used to shopping elsewhere in Europe, then sales discounts won’t seem a big deal, but nos amis Francais – favouring as they do the ‘buy one get none free’ mantra, have a rather more old fashioned approach to their soldes -the nett effect being that all stores are obliged to hold their sales at the same time and then only for a handful of weeks a year.

The tingle of Moneycentime’s kiss still soft on his cheek, Hollande strode purposefully into M’s office. ‘Late as usual, cent moins quatre - vingt treize’ said the grizzled spy chief, looking up and pushing a thick manila file across the desk in front of him. Hollande thought briefly of mentioning the pre dawn roof top chase and exploding helicopter on the Peripherique, but instead slit open the ‘Top Secret’ band with an immaculately manicured thumbnail.

It’s been a long day. You were up before the jays started their God awful racket in the tree outside your bedroom window and it’s now nearly 8pm. The hens are still out, the dogs have their legs crossed in anticipation of a wander ‘round the fields and all you really crave is the opportunity to sit down and get something to eat. Then number 2 son remembers his homework and assures you that his teacher will kill him if it’s not finished – sounds severe, but there you are. So with a sigh you ferret about in his school bag and amongst the discarded juice cartons and biscuit wrappers find the appropriate book, open it at today’s page and see what the subject is. Science. Damn.