Oh, get away and leave me alone. I'm not even going to get out of bed today. Why? You have to ask why? Why do you think, you blithering idiot?

It's because of all those morons who will be going round all day sporting inane grins and gross red noses, thinking they're so witty, clever and cool when actually all they are doing is leaping on a bandwagon and copying everyone else by trying to emotionally blackmail you out of your hard-earned cash.

I mean, who ever told these idiots that it was funny to sit in a bath of cold baked beans or congealed custard? Why am I supposed to laugh if some moron shaves off half his beard, or a narrow strip across the top of his head? And when, ever, under any circumstances, was Lenny Henry even remotely funny?

Just look at the roll call of off-the-wall "humour" imposed on us the last time this dog's dinner of a day came round in 2001.

A male supermarket manager at Monks Cross dressed in women's clothing for the day. Tee hee.

Staff at another York store wore their underpants on the outside. Ha ha.

Computer nerds at some hi-tech company in Clifton turned up for work in their pyjamas. Oh, help me someone before I split my sides laughing.

If you really need reminding how toe-curlingly awful the whole thing is, just turn to page 26 of this week's Radio Times. That poncy little mummy's boy Gareth Gates is attempting to hitch a ride on the bandwagon the way second- rate celebs always do. He's been pictured - gasp! - climbing into a bath full of cold baked beans.

Vomit-inducing enough, but just look at this excuse for a text that goes with it. "The cold reality of fame is starting to hit Gareth Gates. To be precise, it's seeping down his trousers. 'There are beans in my bum,' groans Britain's most bankable 18-year-old as he lowers himself into a bath of Heinz's finest."

Excuse me while I throw up. It's puerile. It's pathetic. It's insulting to our collective intelligence. So why don't we, everybody, just please grow up!

Oh but, I hear you bleat, it's all for charity. Ah, coochy-coo and tickle that little baby under the chin. If you're so worried about the rest of the world all of a sudden, why does it take an organised day of silly little jokes to make you dip your grubby little hand into your pocket?

I mean, are you a lemming or something? Don't you have a brain and a conscience of your own? Or are you so hooked up on this celebrity worship thing that you haven't even the gumption to realise there are kids starving and dying of Aids in Africa unless some also-ran comedian sporting a red nose tells you so on prime-time TV?

What is it with us these days? We seem to be permanently stuck at the emotional level of maturity of a spotty teenager. Good God, we're about to go to war, for Christ's sakes, and all we can do is prat around in red noses thinking we're so funny and drowning in self-congratulation because we are raising all this money for those poor little children in Africa.

It's our fault those poor little African children are dying in the first place, you idiots.

If our consumer society wasn't so greedy and grasping, and if the rules of international trade weren't so twisted against the have-nots, perhaps they would have a chance. But no, that would mean higher taxes over here to sustain our comfortable lives, and perhaps a few sacrifices every now and then like paying a fair price for our coffee.

Ooh no, we couldn't do that, could we? So let's just make ourselves feel good by dipping into our pockets every couple of years and tossing those poor Africans a few coppers. Then, consciences salved, we can forget about them again and get back to worrying about the really important things, such as whether our bum looks big in this or that new shampoo really can help split- ends.

I wouldn't even mind so much - let's face it, we really are a greedy, grasping, selfish species, so why try to hide it? - if those people who dreamt up Red Nose Day weren't so determined that we all have to have fun.

I've got nothing against fun - but I'll have it when I want, thank you very much, and not because somebody else tells me to. And it won't involve a red nose, an extra pair of underpants, funny hair or even a tin of baked beans.

I know you haven't listened to a word I've said. I can tell from that smug look on your face. So it's time to play my trump card.

If Red Nose Day is supposed to be so funny, why isn't it funny?

Just look at the tripe those cretins at the BBC are offering us this evening in their Comic Relief extravaganza (oh, how did I manage to restrain myself from spelling that "eggs-travaganza"?). Jack Dee standing on a pole, Westlife undergoing the red spray treatment, and Gareth Gates performing a Comic Relief single live with the Kumars from No 42.

Not to mention Lenny Henry in a spoof Michael Jackson documentary, Dawn French and Jennifer Saunders in a witty sketch entitled Harry Potter And The Chamberpot Of Azerbaijan (you see? we still haven't progressed beyond the level of toilet humour) and Cat Deeley - I mean, honestly, Cat Deeley - announcing the winner of Comic Relief Does Fame Academy.

I rest my case. I really do.

Please, somebody, just pull the covers back over my head.

And don't wake me up until Saturday.

Updated: 10:31 Friday, March 14, 2003