I don't care what you're selling. Go away

I don't like them.

I know it sounds harsh.

It's not that I don't like them per-se, it's just that I take issue with their contrived chatter and bothering ways.

Before you throw your white collars at me, let me explain.

On Sunday as I was walking my beautiful boy (Jarvis) in the flooded woods through a juniper haze of the night before and blinded by the driving rain, I bumped into someone I haven't seen in centuries because she is meant to be living somewhere Up North...like Manchester or something.

Anyway, despite my hideous, green, cagoule, complete with elasticated hood (which incidentally, makes me look like a giant pea) and my Alice Cooper eyes (thick, black and grey tram lines had run over my cheeks thanks to the rain) she recognised me.

She wasn't taken aback by my frightening appearance, although I was pretty horrified after looking in my car mirror some time later.

"Hi there Karen, what's big in 2014?"I wondered for a few moments if my ears were waterlogged.

I mean, who actually says things like that?"Oh yeah, of course.

Top sales reps for megabucks companies.

I was about to say that I was quite content lurching from one day to the next, thank you very much, when she interjected, spewing forth about her fabulous trips to India, Minnesota, Columbia and Chicago planned for the next seven months.

Fortunately she was so busy bragging about her whirlwind life that I got out of having to respond to her opening gambit and, after what seemed like an eternity Jarvis, who can normally be relied upon for his bad manners - finally began to whinge.

I mumbled my goodbyes and hurried off into the dark skies.

And yesterday, as I was slumped over my computer composing something clever, someone knocked at my door.

I ignored it as I was absorbed, but annoyingly whoever it was wouldn't stop.

It was a man, carrying a travelling bag full of ironing board covers, sponges of varying sizes and all-weather scissors.

He said: "Through no fault of my own, I am selling door to door.

Please buy something.

"I summoned all my willpower to stop myself from saying: "Through no fault of my own, I have to write for a living, and when you rang the doorbell just now, you interrupted the most brilliant sentence I have ever formed, which now I cannot recall.

"Instead I handed him a fiver for a paper towel or something.

And just today, I have been disturbed no fewer than three times AT WORK, with salesmen asking me if I'm having a nice day - as if they cared - before launching into mindless sales patter about insurance, Sky or a pension.

Look.

I know you are only doing your job, but so am I, so please, leave me alone.

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