From here until the royal wedding, it’s sewage all the way

I hope you are looking forward to the tsunami of industrial effluent which is coming your way in the first quarter of the new year. You will not be able to avoid it, unless you are Helen Keller. One way or another, Wills and Kate are going to get you.

Or, more properly, their agents of misrule are going to get you, the meeja, with their tele-photo lenses and their hacked mobile phone accounts, and their rubber gloves for rummaging through dustbins and their long sharp noses for filth and discord and their deep gullets and unquenchable thirst for vapid, pointless liquid excrement. If you were being charitable you might argue that the principle victims in this deluge of unmitigated bollocks are the happy couple — which is true, of course. But they have legions of courtiers to assuage the worst of it, to reassure them, to hide the papers. You and I are alone. We have nothing to look forward to except for 30 April or the gentle, emollient embrace of the grave, whichever comes quickest. It will be a wonder if, by the end of it, we are not all republicans.

I do not mean the Royal Doulton china plates or the photo spreads in Hello! magazine, or any of the other paraphernalia aimed with cynical precision at thick working-class monarchists. That’s fine; we all need to make a bob or two. I mean the rest, the stuff supposedly imbued with greater resonance, or with cattiness and spite. Here’s a selection from 45 seconds looking through the papers:

• The shrieking, horse-faced congenital idiot Janet Street-Porter has taken Kate Middleton to task for wearing a cheapish (£60) blouse from Whistles and a dress from the high street store Reiss. High-street shops are boring, says Janet. She advises Kate to dress like herself, i.e.