BLACK Friday is upon us. If that sounds like a plague, then it is: a consumer plague. There cannot be a pontificating columnist up and arguably doon the land who does not affect to disapprove of the phenomenon.

It’s always easy to act superior to the common herd. So let’s do that. My disapproval of my fellow man is a matter of public record, and this simply constitutes Exhibit X in my case for the prosecution.

But Black Friday has something manic about it, and that’s a time to stand back and pretend it has nothing to do with us. I’ve never been one of those who disapprove of supermarkets while surreptitiously shopping in them. I love supermarkets in a melancholy, addicted way.

But I cannot love Black Friday. And I cannot believe the estimate that 80 per cent of “Britons” (descendants of King Arthur) bought something on Black Friday weekend last year.

And it is a whole weekend now. Even beyond – there’s now talk of Cyber Monday. This all started in the United States, and Black Friday takes place a day after Thanksgiving, which presumably always takes place on a Thursday, but is anyway a concept about which we Arthurians know little.

At best, it sounds like two Christmases and seems to have some vaguely religious significance. As a prelude to Black Friday, perhaps they should rename it Thanksbuying.

God did not create Black Friday. Neither did Moses cut and paste it on to his tablet of stone. No, internet shopping giant Amazon is blamed for introducing the concept in 2010, more than two thousand years after the birth of the baby Jesus, who would have been turning in his grave had he chosen to stay in it instead of getting all resurrected.

Amazon isn’t Marmite. You either love or hate Marmite. We all love and hate Amazon. It’s the most peculiar phenomenon. It offers ease of shopping, where a chap can sit at home in his Star Wars onesie and make purchases at the headbutting of a button.

I indulge as much as the next decent ratepayer, but it’s frequently a source of irritation. For example, I’m writing this wearing reading glasses that cover most of my face because I did not read the spec, so to say, properly.

The last thing I bought on Amazon was a CD of a Danish woman singing in a mausoleum. You have your musical tastes, I have mine.

I ordered this tasteful gift (to myself) on November 10 and, on November 14, received an email (addressed to Mrs/Mr Robert McNeil) telling me it would arrive on November 27. That meant taking 13 days to get here. To take that long, they’d have to keep looking into the cart where it has been placed en route and saying: “No, it isn’t time yet. You have to wait another 11 days.”

Perhaps they’re sending it on a world cruise first. I could have had an ox and matching smock delivered with greater celerity in medieval times. I can only think I must have bought this item on Opaque Friday.

You say: “Maybe it is coming all the way from Denmarkia. By tortoise.” Perhaps so. But the advert didn’t mention anything about this, and the charlatans behind the scam conspicuously have “UK” in their trading name.

Enough Amazon already. Black Friday isn’t all online, and customers in possession of movable feet can waddle into participating shops. Whether online or otherwise I do not know, but these include Mothercare and the Disney Store, which is a sign that civilisation is crumbling.

Indeed, the usual pictures will emerge in the public prints of shoppers turning into cage fighters as they wrestle each other for the last saliva-operated barbecue and grill.

You know these people you come across in the supermarket who barge in aggressively at the shelves and have mad, greedy, selfish looks on their faces? It’s like that writ large, a reminder that, deep down, we remain savages. Well, not Herald readers, right enough. But you know: Scotsman readers.

Only joking, brothers and sisters. (Indeed, I see we have our own special Black Friday offer: hurry while stocks last!). This is becoming a worldwide phenomenon, except for viewers in North Korea, which has Cabbage Tuesday every June.

I can’t help thinking that all this purchasing hype must be galling for those tortured by Universal Credit. All the same, for the salaried with many Christmas presents to buy, it makes sense and they cannot be chastised for it by spoof moralists pretending to be aloof.

Even the banks have praised Black Friday as a way of saving money. And, if such custodians of the Christmas spirit and moral rectitude believe it is good, then we must consider making every day Black – and every mark-up minimal.