This time of year, there are four words mentioned in newspapers and magazines and heard in TV advertisements that chill me to the bone.

“It’s the party season!”

With the exception of those that start at two pm, feature jelly and ice cream and ‘Pass The Parcel’ before finishing promptly at four pm with goodie bags handed-out to the little ones as they’re collected by their parents, I cannot abide parties.

I’m a tolerant person, who appreciates a joke – whether I’m telling it or hearing it – and I enjoy a good night out.

But I’m hyper-allergic to those excruciating ‘fun’ celebrations of enforced jollity, surrounded by obnoxious, boozed-up people, as loud music blasts our eardrums while everyone stands around making small talk – something I have never been able to master the ‘art’ of.

I know very little about football or rugby, so I can’t join in any sporty conversations.

Heavy topics like religion and politics should be avoided as party-chat, because the combination of heavy alcohol consumption and strong opinions usually ends in fisticuffs, broken furniture and someone’s 60-inch plasma telly being covered in taramasalata.

I also know very little about another subject discussed at parties – popular television shows.

Of course I watch the telly, but as I have absolutely no interest in 75% of what’s shown on TV, you’ll understand why I find it so difficult joining in most gogglebox gossip.

I don’t watch any soaps and I’ve never sat through a complete episode of the following….

Strictly Come Dancing.

The X Factor.

The Great British Bake Off.

Masterchef.

Celebrity Masterchef.

The Great Pottery Throwdown.

Big Brother.

Celebrity Big Brother.

The Voice.

I’m yawning like a hippopotamus basking on the banks of the Limpopo just thinking about those shows.

As for “I’m A Celebrity, Get Me Out Of Here”, I genuinely cannot see the appeal of watching a group of ‘celebs’ I’ve never heard of, bickering around a jungle clearing night after night, chewing kangaroo testicles and sticking their heads inside a box of rats.

Does the word ‘dignity’ not appear in their dictionaries?

If John Logie Baird had foreseen how his invention would become so dumbed-down, he would have burnt his blueprints and we’d now be spending our evenings listening to the wireless, eating jelly and ice cream and playing “Pass The Parcel”.

Maybe you’d like to include this theory amongst your small talk at the next party you attend…