"The Almighty must have loved average folk. That's why he made so many of us." Wise words from Abraham Lincoln, that unusually intelligent American president, which we can savour especially at this time of year.

As I pen this piece, Christa has already switched on Ilkley's bright lights and Billy Pearce, another bright light, is making Bradford roar with laughter at our beloved Alhambra pantomime.

Through our letterbox, Christmas cards are dropped. Does your heart sink when your Christmas cards contain newsletters (duplicated by the wonders of IT or simply photocopied) from brilliantly successful correspondents? Degrees are acquired in such numbers that your average thermometer is put in the shade. But that's just the start.

Younger offspring are equally gifted once their milk teeth come out. At school, each one is potentially an Einstein and so clever the teachers simply can't teach them anything (an old chestnut but it is a time for putting them to roast on the fire) while others are so able that we say it twice, just like we do with New York.

Out-of-school activities are not forgotten. One musically-inclined prodigy is learning both the trumpet and the clarinet and can play them at the same time, while the baby recognises Handel's Water Music and indicates this in a touching way.

Gifted sports-loving boys are being pursued by Arsenal, Chelsea and Man United as well as getting calls to international rugby, cricket and tiddlywinks.

Teenage daughters are thinking about becoming PAs to high-fliers having been excluded from Girls Aloud because they're too attractive and would upset existing members of the group.

The adults go from one triumph to another at work. Talk of promotions, consultancies and becoming a chief executive abounds.

Selected senior citizens who are successful are included in this tale of triumph. Nan is still Cliff's Number One Fan while Granddad continues to ensure he looks his best by putting his teeth in whenever Anne Robinson appears on TV. Even the highly intelligent pet dog greets her in his own way!

Had enough? Of course you have. But what can be done about this Christmas rated The Invasion Of The Dreaded Round Robins' horror feature? In desperation, over the last few years I've simply sent them on to other Round Robinites' so that, in the joy of sharing, they too would receive equally cringe-making missives from persons unknown. Bewildered, but anxious to keep up appearances, they would subsequently include their new partners in crime in future Christmas card lists of those to be impressed.

No doubt readers will have received similar offerings to bring colour to their drab, ordinary lives. It's tempting to ask for examples through the readers' letters section. With a good collection we could produce a book entitled God Bless Us All - excepting Tiny Tim and get it published by the Bah Humbug Press!