It is at this at this time of year that thoughts turn to those less fortunate, and with that in mind I am taking a few minutes out of my busy schedule to give you a privileged glimpse of our Christmas preparations here at the Hall, which is indeed decked with boughs of holly brought in from the grounds.
The Harrods van has just delivered a Duchy Original organic goose and several sides of Balmoral smoked salmon, and in the kitchen the cook is preparing for the great feast which will, as usual, feature a vast plum pudding with lashings of rum sauce.
Wafting through the house are the scents of Myddfai Yuletide Potpourri, a medley of organic native seed heads hand-picked by natives on the estate at Llwynywormwood, a generous gift from Charles and Camilla.
It is hard to imagine that not far away others are consigned to lives of penury and misery, and I would ask you to spare a thought for my old friend and neighbour Brynito who narrowly escaped being strung up from a lamppost by a howling mob of partisans led by someone Brynito once described as "the most evil bastard" in the land. In scenes reminiscent of the Bolshevik revolution, the First Family has even been stripped of its Porsche.
Fortunately we have been spared such shocking depravity, but things could easily have been so very different. At the beginning of this year a vile conspiracy of malcontents and political agitators combined to have me put under house arrest here at the Hall. I was touched by the many messages of support received during that difficult time, and Mrs Chippings told me that ordinary folk were openly weeping on the streets and distraught at the thought of the anarchy the nationalists were planning to unleash.
It was with some considerable satisfaction that the British justice system dismissed the tissue of lies and nonsense which had been cooked up by these professional troublemakers, and I was found not guilty on all 428 charges with not a spot or stain on my good character.
This was a triumph for Justice, and since my return to power I have dedicated myself to ensuring that never again can the rules be manipulated in such a way as to put our prosperity and progress in jeopardy.
We have therefore been able to end the year on something of a celebratory note, and it was my pleasure the other day to welcome the Board to the traditional Christmas buffet in the Staff Dining Hall.
In recognition of the difficult economic climate, the Board members each brought along a platter to share. Mr Minge donated some twiglets. It was either that or prawn cocktail crisps, he said, and he had been forced to "do a difficult decision" once again. Mrs Chippings came with a tupperware container packed with her famous rock cakes, while the dog woman in the brown trouser suit came with a pot of grey sludge which she said was a homemade dip. Meanwhile Mr Evans, who I am reliably informed is also a member of a Village People tribute band, brought along some rather curly tuna sandwiches which I suspect had been recycled.
Guest of honour was Mr Fudd who read a short prayer which turned out on closer inspection to be the fire evacuation procedures. How we all laughed!
Once the rest had gone and the silver had been counted, Mrs Chippings told me that she had had a word with the Lord Lieutenant to explain how much I deserved a knighthood. If I am so honoured, I will humbly accept on behalf of you all.
For many of you reading this, this could be the last time you receive the Christmas edition of our bilingual in-house magazine, and Mr Minge has warned that cuts of biblical proportions are heading your way. I am therefore pleased to announce that the Reverend Bonnett and Mrs Plummer will be on hand next year with a special Christmas Food Bank to help you out.
To show that we are all in it together and as an act of ultimate self-sacrifice, you may be aware that I myself have submitted an application to take part in the executive severance scheme, and the accountants and Linda are currently finalising a suitable package, provided there are sufficient funds left in the kitty.
This may therefore turn out to be the last time I pen a Christmas special edition of Y Gair Olaf/The Last Word, and it is with a tear in my eye that I wish you all a Merry Christmas.