Just a few days to go until the traditional December 25 meltdown and TV’s Cockney rabble are gearing up for another miserable season of bad will.

This is the week in which the EastEnders losers suffer collective amnesia about all the disasters of Christmas past and look forward to the alleged happiest time of the year.

“It’s going to be the best Christmas ever!” vowed ludicrous landlady Linda unaware that it’s guaranteed to be the worst. “It will be the best Christmas ever,” added Sharon whose yellow alky husband Phil is making a meal of dying. “I’ll make sure of it.” Good luck with that.

Bad idea to remind us just how absurd Albert Square dysfunctional families are as a social worker arrived to announce that unless convicted paedophile Jay vacates the premises the authorities will take action.

After Sharon naively protested, the town hall flunky deconstructed the calamitous Mitchell clan with deadly precision: “Jay is on the register. And now he’s sleeping just doors away from a 15 year-old girl under the supervision of an alcoholic with a history of violence whose wife seems more interested in protecting a sex offender than his potential victim.” Spot on. What a shambolic shower.

To rub salt into the Sharon’s wounds, her horrible peeping Tom son Dennis was caught watching the girls undress at the rehearsals for the crap community play. “It’s what normal boys do,” growled Phil who clearly believes normal boys are voyeuristic perverts. “Normal!” screamed gay Ben before storming out in the latest of his theatrical rages.

Talking of rubbish families, Martin Fowler was less than thrilled after tedious teen Shakil changed his status to single on Facebook. Reacting to the situation with characteristic sophistication, moronic Martin chased the terrified kid around the market and stormed: “That little scumbag used my daughter for sex and now he’s dropped her like a bit of dirt.” Don’t blame him, she’s a frightful bore.

Seriously though, the Bex and Shakil shagging thing has been dragging on for months amid widespread viewer apathy. It’s just a couple of adolescents fumbling around being stupid. Who cares? When she finally agreed to a brace of post-pubescent bonks, he appeared to lose interest. So clichéd it’s virgin on the ridiculous. Yawn.

Meanwhile, to add to the mounting sense of midwinter joy, Dot is all set to lose her anachronistic job at the launderette after 354 years. Terrible news for the outmoded locals… because none of them own washing machines. The old bat is also going blind but refuses to see a doctor. No one knows why.

In other mind-numbing news… jumping Jack Branning and murderer Ronnie are preparing to tie the knot and move to – drum roll – Ongar! Not since Jane courageously decamped to Cardiff has such a daring change of residence been contemplated. Albert Square’s agoraphobes so hate leaving Walford none of them even commute. They all work within 20 yards of their front doors. Shock horror… Ongar is ten miles away!

“This is really happening,” gasped Ronnie as Jack revealed that some poor unfortunate was keen to buy their terraced hovel and roared: “Ongar here we come!” Wow.

All of this was too much for Roxy to handle. So traumatised was she at the prospect of her sinister sister being a half hour’s journey away, that she asked her to adopt her daughter Amy. It’s for the best because Roxy drinks too much and keeps sloping off into public lavatories to purchase illegal drugs.

Worse still, her high-flying career isn’t going too well either. After she bunked off yet again, poisonous dwarf Donna fired her. Pity. Selling tat at Donna’s stall was Roxy’s best job since spooning out lunchtime curry for fast food failure Masood.

At a low ebb following Amy’s starring role in the church nativity play, deadbeat mum Roxy was comforted by the patronising parson.

“True love is selfless, it’s prepared to sacrifice,” he told her. “Is that from the Bible?” enquired Roxy. Parson: “No, a fridge magnet.” The same place, one suspects, where the plodding script writers get their most impressive lines.

Other lowlights included the friendly neighbourhood bobby who turned a blind eye to Jack’s stag night Santas nicking the council’s Christmas tree. In real life Mick and his merry thieves would have been arrested and convicted. The police would never turn their back on a crime statistic. Especially after it was front page news in the world’s worst newspaper The Walford Gazette. Under the hopeless headline “Santa Steals”.

Not forgetting the implausible plotline featuring Whitney’s last minute decision to invite the thousands of Carters to the tiny flat she shares with liar Lee for Christmas lunch. Just six days before the 25th, Linda had evidently made no plans at all. So she was more than happy to accept her dozy daughter-in-law’s kind offer. Luckily, Whit can afford the mountains of food and drink… because Lee’s doing so well at work. Yeah right.

And last but certainly least came Scrooge turned milk of human kindness Ian Beale’s grand gesture as he let Linda borrow the Christmas trees from his barrow to decorate the Square. Suddenly, it was a winter wonderland. In London’s real East End all those lights and decorations would last about two minutes.

But back to Bex and her simmering fury after Martin humiliated her in the market. As she seethed in the café she was comforted by Cathy Beale. “Sometimes, parents get it wrong,” she said. “I should know.” Yeah, allowing her two boys to believe she was dead for a decade didn’t quite qualify her for the mother of the century award.

So that’s about it as our hapless heroes stagger towards their annual Christmas catastrophes. And if you think it all seems unutterably terrible, trust me, the worst is yet to come.