Or (and this is even harder to believe) maybe they could be bothered, but they don’t actually have a large and impressive enough record collection to do it from. It’s sad, but if such people didn’t exist, albums like Floorfiller Anthems wouldn’t exist. Well, they might, but they wouldn’t sell any copies.

It’s not that such ventures are entirely pointless. No box set featuring Fatboy Slim’s Right Here Right Now and Roger Sanchez’s Another Chance could be accused of that. Also, it’s nice to think that the Soup Dragons are still getting royalty cheques now and again because they’re the Soup Dragons, and they deserve it.

But for every up, there’s a down. For every Oakenfold (and look at the choice. If that doesn’t give you a clue to this album’s target audience, nothing will), there’s a Daniel Bedingfield. For every new suburban B&Q-worrier who will subliminally be turned into an MDMA monster by the not-so-hidden message in The Shamen's Ebeneezer Goode, there is a penny or so going into Jamiroquai’s saggy back pocket.

And that’s the problem with compliations such as these. For every ruby there’s dust, and in between there’s an equal amount of mediocre dross, some of which you’ve heard of, some of which you haven’t, very little of which is going to really convince anyone to go out and buy a whole album of it because at the point when they’re listening to it, they’ll be more interested in shoving their hand down Pam from Number 14’s blouse than they are in savouring the music.

Ultimately, we have to ask ourselves, is it a good thing or a bad thing that these compilations exist, and on balance we should really come down in their favour. After all, think of the people who buy them. Think of what the soundtrack to their party would be if this box set didn’t exist - an entire Daniel Bedingfield album, followed by Greatest Drive Anthems, free from last Sunday’s paper. If you’re lucky, you might - just might - get Coldplay.

So, Dancefloor Fillers. It brings Rhythm Is A Dancer, The Cardigans and The Soup Dragons into the front rooms of people who wouldn’t otherwise know they exist, even if they will have forgotten them in the morning. It lets you sneer your indie sneer safe in the knowledge that you could have knocked up something much better, given just half an hour and a CD burner. But it’s not for you. So shut up, dance and be grateful that most of the people around you aren’t blathering on about Big Brother for once. Until the theme tune comes on, of course ...

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