Charity begins at work

It's getting to that season again.

Charity season.

I know Charity operates throughout the year, but in the dull run-up to Christmas it gets worse.

So, recently we have had a cake sale for a hospice; samosa sale for Kurdish (I believe, I forget) orphans; book sale for a local nursery; sweet sale for something-or-other and there is another cake sale coming up. Hopefully for an obesity charity.

Then there is the cuddly toy sale which has been happening for a wee while. Someone upstairs is selling 'shopping trolley tokens', there is a year-round bookstall and it won't be long before the lass in health and safety starts selling the charity Christmas cards.

There are already three posters up for different Christmas markets or gift fairs. Someone is recycling mobile phones next to the vending machine and there is a charity 'walk a mile' happening this weekend. Walk a mile?! I walk no less than 8 miles every day.

This is even before you take into account the dozen or so chaps doing 'Movember' where they grow mustaches in aid of mens health; the day we had last month where everyone had to wear something pink for women's health; and the various 5k; 10k; half-marathons, marathons or abseils that people are doing.

Oh, and then there's Children in Need coming up too. We have another cake sale for that, seven different tombolas or raffles around the place, guess the sweets in the jar, guess the weight of the cake and general collection buckets here there and everywhere. And you can't get away from it. The tombolas actually tour round the office from desk to office. If you appear busy or on the phone, they come back when you're not. I would love to be able to spend a working day wandering around not doing any work.

It is relentless. It is draining. And not just financially - I lose track of which charity is which, what particular cause I am donating to. It is fatiguing and - worse still for the charities - anaesthetising. I have no idea which charity it is, what they do, how my money benefits them. The constant pestering has lead to a distinct drop-off in interest and in giving.

Or I would have if I were to engage.

I don't. And it's not because I am a grump (though, at work, that may be a perfectly levelled moniker). I have already selected the charities to which I wish to give, and I do so on a regular basis. I am happy with my choices. On occasions I may choose to donate to another; but I am not doing so purely on the basis that one of the other 250 or so people in the building in which I work has decided they are supporting a particular charity and so should everyone else here. If each of them were to organise a 'day' for their particular charity, that would be one every single working day. I am going to give to the charities that mean something to me in a way that causes them as little distruption or administrative costs as possible.

And I don't stop there. Don't forget that I volunteer for a charity, doing at least one stint a week. So I'm giving as well as just giving. I really am not anti-charity.

I can't even walk down the main shopping street in town without one of a dozen or so chuggers, representing at least three or four different charities, approaching me. But it has gotten worse now. Now they are targetting me in my own home. Just a couple of weeks ago there was one who - despite having been informed that I had just sat down to my hot (though rapidly cooling) dinner; and despite having been informed that I didn't do doorstep giving - persisting in trying her luck. I had to shut the door in her face because she wouldn't shut up. I felt bad, and I was in my own house.