I REALISE these are serious times. We are navigating unchartered territory, my house price and everyone else’s has fallen through the floor and money’s too tight to mention.

If only it were.

I know it’s important, but I am so tired of turning on the radio or television to hear that yet again, the Nikkei is tumbling, another nation has gone to the IMF and we need another interest rate cut.

My heart sinks every time another jolly commentator lines up to say it’s going to last a year, two years, five years, and that no matter what anyone does, the banks won’t lend to one another. No wonder that when it carries on for long enough, they call it a depression.

To make matters worse, whenever they manage to stop talking about the economy, they start going on about the US Presidential elections, and watching, or worse, listening to Obama/Palin/McCain is like a brisk rub-down with a rusty Brillo pad.

Oh, and then there’s the weather: generally good for a laugh. The clocks have gone back and the wind is turning northerly, and there’s rain, sleet and snow in the air, but hey! The supermarkets are now doling out the ‘flu jab, so there’s always a silver lining.

When that story broke about Greek tavernas, Mediterranean yachts and Russian oligarchs I perked up briefly, and not just because I’d learned a new word. It seemed like a bit of light relief, but now even that’s started to grate. And once was more than enough for me to hear about what passes for wit on Andrew Sachs’s answering machine these days.

So that’s that for me. Tomorrow I’ve got a day off, and I am banning the whole flipping lot. No telly, no radio, no looking stuff up on the internet, not even talking about it is going to be allowed. The world can mind its own business, and so will I.

Just think what I could do if I didn’t get sucked in by all that information – and how virtuous I would feel if I used my free time properly.

I could go to the gym without getting side-tracked by Fern Britton and her gastric band, I could get rid of that cobweb I see fluttering above my head every time I lie back in the bath, I could finally take up that pair of trousers that I bought when I was still frivolous and rich enough to go shopping on my days off.

I could take that bag of clothes to Oxfam, I could plant some flowers, I could answer that letter, I could catch up with the friend I’ve been meaning to ring for ages (although I’d like to ban the phone along with all the other electronic tyrants). Heck, I could even start reading that book I never seem to finish.

And if I just can’t cope without my telly fix, I can always turn it on in time for Spendaholics. Witnessing one person’s credit crunch is a whole lot easier than watching global economic meltdown, and it’s all sorted out in one hour tops.

Actually, they should let loose Jade and Benjamin, the Spendaholics experts, to analyse the bank bosses who got us into this mess. Bet you it was all down to a difficult relationship with their fathers, and if they started taking sandwiches in to work, we’d all be right as rain in no time.

And then, maybe, we could talk about something else at last.