Season's greetings, fellow devotees of the perilous and macabre!

As the festive season approaches, no doubt you think it time to sit back in front of a roaring fire, enjoy a snifter of brandy or good-humoured eggnog and look forward to the traditional exchange of gifts with family-members and other hangers-on.

Well, think again! Just remember the terrifying statistic that it takes but twenty minutes in front of a standard seasonal fire to ignite a festive sweater. Recall with horror the dreadful 'Nogg Poisoning of '87, when nearly three hundred thousand people spent the holy night in their lavatories, heaving up the customary party favourites. Not to mention the likelihood that at least one member of your family will be presenting you with a gift… of death! No doubt they shall be attempting to claim the insurance money with which to star a new life in Central America, under the name of Captain Sebastian Beantrinket. You may scoff, but this exact sequence of events occurred just last year to my great-aunt Millicent.

As you value you life and your property, I beseech thee: do not let the jollities of the season lead you to lower your guard till well into the new year, when a new instalment of our humble chap-book (the afore-mentioned 'London') shall be available. I just hope you will survive to enjoy it.