Mr Cameron's @Number10gov Twitter account follows more than 372,000 people. This means that each of those people is allowed to send him direct messages. To follow that many people and have their messages destroyed unopened seems rude, to say the least.
It's been fun learning about Christmas here in the UK. It's a lot louder here. People seem to start celebrating in October, and I do miss that intense calm of a Finnish Christmas. Perhaps it's something only three feet of snow can really accomplish.
Because of the merriment, frivolities and those somewhat potentially embarrassing Christmas parties, it's a pertinent a time of year to remind everyone that the best way to enjoy celebrations, and your dram, is also to sip and savour your drink.
St Nick was said to secretly give gifts of cash to those in need, thereby making him the Patron Saint of children, sailors and prostitutes... which is a slightly worrying combination that would no doubt have caused a lot of finger-pointing in the ancient offices of BBC Newsnight.
They say Christmas is about giving, about sharing and about being with the ones you love, which is a load of sentimental old tosh. It's about getting drunk, receiving underwear you wouldn't be caught dead in and tolerating behavior from people you normally wouldn't be seen dead with.
Christmas is the season for uncontrollable urges - it's like it was designed to mess up every good intention. There's the mistletoe and the alcohol for starters - which is practically inviting misbehaviour and then there's chocolate lying around.
My husband and I have decided to let our children believe in Santa Claus. We entertain the idea by leaving out milk and cookies on Christmas Eve, by suggesting they could go on the Naughty List if they misbehave and on Christmas morning, one of the presents for them is from Santa.
A sports car won't make you grow a bigger penis and a spritz of Chanel will never bag you a Brad Pitt so don't buy into it. A smear of lipstick won't leave you looking like Kate Moss and all the isotonic sports drinks in the world won't give you thighs like Chris Hoy.
As we Western liberals reflect on the unshackling of thousands from life under dictatorship this year, our glee merely covers our own seasonal devotion to a charismatic and powerful despot: the self-styled 'Father Christmas'.