There are plenty of saint days just waiting to be exploited

NICK Steel, he of Bath Comedy Festival, informs me that he spotted Easter eggs for sale in Widcombe on December 28, to which I replied, ‘You’re having a laugh!.’ Talk about foot in the door.

Why, Santa’s snowy boot prints have barely melted away when in steps the fluffy chick brigade with their daffodils and cringeworthy egg puns.

I think that those who seek to cash in on hitherto modest traditional celebrations (look what happened to Halloween) are missing a trick or two.

For example, there are more than 90 saint days in the Christian calendar between now and Easter, just waiting to be exploited.

My favourites include St Anthony the Great. He’s the patron saint of shingles, so very topical and ripe for revival.

He is said to have crossed vast expanses of crocodile-infested waters to get to his chosen hermit cave. Chocolate crocodiles anyone?

And then there’s St Ia, whose name would fit the smallest of greetings cards. They say he arrived in England from Ireland floating on a leaf. Huge opportunities for ferry companies there.

And any town with the merest vestige of river, canal or even a boating pond could organise themed competitions for charity. Forget plastic ducks.

Imagine Bath Rugby team trying to cross Pulteney Weir on leafy rafts. Wearing leafy garments.

Ooh, matron!

While you are recovering from that image, here’s an example of what I mean. I overheard a woman in one of the larger card shops asking if they had any religious Easter cards. ‘I think I saw one somewhere’ answered the disinterested shop assistant, deigning to give the vast array of available product a cursory glance.

How much better would it have been if she could have said ‘No, but we have a full range of St Anthony the Great’s Day notelets and crocodile-themed gifts! Or how about these self-adhesive St Ia glitter leaves?’.

Another candidate with enormous potential is St Wilgefortis. So reluctant was she to engage with her father’s choice of spouse (a king, no less) she prayed to become repulsive.

Consequently, God bestowed on her a luxurious beard. These days this would not be regarded as particularly disadvantageous, and the opportunities for cross-dressing would be legion.

My all-time favourite, and I imagine with countless Brits, is St Guinefort, who was actually a dog. A greyhound to be precise. I can think of hundreds of cute ways to celebrate St Guinefort’s Day.

I’m certain there’s money in it. I’m already working on an origami whippet, tea towels to follow!

On the other hand, we could save an awful amount of trouble if we simply said that Christmas starts on December 28. A year would become the 369 days of Christmas, which, apart from making the song an incredible feat of memory, would serve to get rid of all the unsold tat from the previous Christmas.

And people wouldn’t think I was weird to get all my cards made, stamped and addressed by midOctober as is my wont.