THE season of goodwill starts here. Will my mantelpiece be filled with Christmas cards? Or will I festively display the appeals which drop through my letterbox? In fact the first charity appeal I’ve received this year contains a “free gift” of complimentary Christmas cards. So I can do both.

When I rant about Christmas appeals I’m not referring to the work of excellent organisations like Crisis or The Salvation Army. Here letters are sent out by thoughtful, clued-up individuals who invest money wisely, and think about who they write to. When I rant I’m referring to letters from charities you’ve never heard of.

The worst excesses of sending junk through the post were swept away by the Charities Acts 2006 and 2011. But there are still some clangers like these cards. So instead of complaining to the Fundraising Standards Board I’m going to get into the yuletide spirit by telling you some of my all-time favourites.

Take for instance the charity who sent me a plastic syringe through the post. What a peculiar thing to deal with over breakfast. It worked too – I squirted milk over my cornflakes with it.

I’ve no doubt the charity in question is made up of fine, well-meaning people who do good work. But these techniques, which originate in the US, don’t really fit our British sensibilities. Nor does the fact that, were you chump enough to respond, their policy was to keep sending you the syringe every three weeks. Without so much as a thank you.

Alongside the syringe would be a letter containing shocking images. There was an explanation of how the syringes would help distribute medicine care. So you could kind of follow the logic of it, even if you found the method so repulsive that you’d rather download a Band Aid single.

I’m less sure about the charity who used to send out umbrellas. My deepest sympathy goes out to the poor postie who had to delivery them. I maintain that if you’re old and vulnerable the last thing you need is to expect your pension to come through the post, only to find you’ve received an umbrella and a syringe instead.

These particular clowns would tell you that the umbrella cost £12 so please could you send them as much as you could afford?

I respect the work this money funds. But I’ve nothing but contempt for anyone who sends me a pink umbrella. And if you did decide to send money this particular organisation would write back to you. And enclose a free pair of slippers.

Why? How do you justify the cost of all this? Well imagine Ethel in Barton in giving about £100 a year.

You might hire a swanky London consultant who presents you with a ten year income projection of £1,000. The trouble, friends, is that Ethel is 96. And in ten years she will probably have snuffed it.

These days the savvier charities thrive on fundraising innovation, using everything from e-marketing to attention grabbing events like the recent series of Oxjam concerts.

  • Follow Stuart on Twitter: @therabbitfoot