Picture a Britain where you can stroll into a shop in mid November without being ambushed by a plastic elf grinning like it’s just discovered recreational chemistry. That is the noble core of my party manifesto. Not economic reform. Not constitutional renewal. A simple, dignified law: no Christmas advertising until exactly two weeks before the event.
This is not politics. This is national therapy.
Every year the same festive creep marches across the calendar. The last Bonfire Night rocket hasn’t even finished its death-spiral and suddenly Slade are bellowing at you from aisle seven. Mince pies appear in early November, fossilise by Advent and become museum exhibits by Boxing Day. John Lewis releases yet another film in which a woodland creature learns about the true meaning of unsecured borrowing. It is seasonal torture.
Two weeks ends it. Fourteen days. Christmas contained instead of deployed like a psychological siege weapon.
Imagine the benefits. November becomes ours again. Adults rediscover the joy of shopping without hearing Mariah Carey attempting to shatter glassware. Children regain the thrill of anticipation instead of suffering festive burnout by mid month. Retail staff finally experience something close to inner peace.
And then we come to the great seasonal productivity sinkhole: Secret Santa. Entire offices collapse into chaos for weeks because Brenda from accounts insists the limit is ten quid but Nigel the crypto enthusiast thinks that’s “too restrictive” and wants to buy a novelty mug shaped like a bottom. Under my legislation, Secret Santa cannot derail an office any earlier than fourteen days before Christmas. It is workplace stability, gift-wrapped.
Some will insist they need more time to prepare. Oh please. If you cannot organise a roast, wrap a few presents and locate the Sellotape within two weeks, you require counselling, not an early marketing campaign. Roman generals conquered continents in fewer days.
Others will quake about lost revenue. If your business model needs five months of blasting Santa imagery at the public, then perhaps the free market is sending you a subtle message involving competence. Two weeks will separate the efficient from the chronically confused.
A few will even mutter about authoritarianism. Let’s be clear. Nobody is banning Christmas. I quite like Christmas. I simply prefer it not to begin halfway through autumn like a prolonged hostage situation. Real tyranny is being forced to listen to Mariah Carey on the 10th of November. My plan is liberation.
So let marketing departments weep. Let the elves unionise. Let the tinsel merchants adjust their expectations.
Two weeks. No earlier.
A Britain restored to sanity.
And Mariah Carey spared her annual early release.
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