Christmas doing your nut in already? I’ve decided to speak out after 3 years’ silence in a handy and entertaining listicle. Because, as every lazy blogger knows, there are a finite number of ways in which anything does anything. Fortunately.
1. The Shops
I had a moment of epiphany during a zombie shuffle round Intu (Formerly known as The Glades) Bromley. It struck me, suddenly and forcefully, that neither I nor any of my fellow over-hot and spaced-out shoppers queueing to buy 50 quid boxes of plastic manufactured by 5-year-olds on the other side of the world was enjoying ourselves even a tiny bit. You know what, Andy Williams On The Loudspeaker? It just wasn’t the Most Wonderful Time of the Year in Toys R Us Bromley that day. It wasn’t.
Does anyone seriously, really – seriously, like, actually – give a shit about the Christmas John Lewis/M&S/Sainsbury’s ads? Or is all the excitement and mystery made up by them to advertise the adverts? You know it’s not a gender-reveal party for the next Messiah and they just want you to buy stuff, right?
Oh, and, Johnny Depp, you don’t look cool in this ad. You look like you’ve either lost your glasses or forgotten what you came in the room for. Senior moments, eh.
Is it Christmas Jumper Day today or Nativity Costume Day? You have to take a pound in, do you? You don’t know what for. OK. There’s a raffle. Of course. Or the Christmas Disco. Which you needed to have a ticket for three weeks ago and now you can’t go. Everybody else is sending everybody else Christmas cards, are they? Stop crying darling, we’ll sort it out (to self in mirror).
4. The snot.
In the last 4 weeks: Pickle got scarlet fever, Trulove got tonsillitis, Pickle got a cold. I got the cold. Trulove got the cold. Pickle got the cold again, Ziggler got the cold. Pickle got impetigo. Trulove got the cold again. I would put a cross on the door but judging by the fanfare of rattling phlegm which daily passes our door, there’d be no point. December, thou joyous month!
5. The general pissing-in-the-wind pointlessness of it all.
Guys, we do realise there’s an international humanitarian and political shitstorm raging while we’re circling our preferred Christmas telly in the Radio Times, don’t we? Have we all decided to stick our fingers in our ears and hum until after The Season Of Delight On Small Children’s Faces That’s Soon To Be Wiped Off By The Steam-train Of Global Facism And Scary Unpleasantness As It Thunders Nigh? Or are we hoping it’s just going to go away?
6. I said six
So there shall be six, and here’s the sixth. Number six. Yup. Voilà.
Merry Christmas, readers. And Gor’bless us, every one.