Wednesday, 23 December 2009

Bah, hum...

I hate Xmas so much I can't even get up the enthusiasm to go: Bah, Humbug.

All that wishing people you can't stand Merry Xmas, rabid shoppers buying enough toilet roll for a year-long siege, Xmas cards with Xmasy things like Shrek on the cover from people whose addresses got lost 20 years ago, tacky Xmas tinsel that drops tinsel bits everywhere, tacky Xmas trees that drop spiky bits everywhere, tacky Xmas baubles that if you look at them break into thousands of shards of razor-like glass, tacky Xmas lights that don't work and only light up while you're electrocuting yourself, tacky Xmas everything that destroys a religious and pagan ceremony for a retail stunt to save an economy that's been mortgaged off by politicians, who probably pay for their whole Xmas on expensives, to some bunch of cockney rhyming slang bankers who are so important we have to shut every hospital and school in the country just to pay for their bonuses so they can lose the country another fifty trillion pounds next year, and then there's Santa, I mean why is that meant to be a great idea with kids being taught that some fat bloke will give them presents if they sit on his knee when for the rest of the year they tell them to avoid fat blokes who want to give them presents if they sit on his knee and so people lie to their kids and don't tell them the presents really come from their parents who are going into debt to buy them tacky rubbish that won't have batteries and that'll break before everyone's finished getting paper-cuts opening their presents, and they'll have more fun with the box the over-priced present came in anyway, and then there's the expensive sales where everything is trebled in price just so it can be halved to give you a bargain, the guilt trips, the annoying friends and relatives who won't go away even after you've thrown their coats out the door, gone to bed, turned out all the lights, and got a taxi-driver to drag them out the house, and there's all the excuses you have to dream up to avoid parties and you just know someone is going to compare notes and find out you haven't emigrated and so the week you spent hiding on the bathroom floor to avoid people was wasted, the inane drivel on the tv that was recorded in sweltering June where everyone pretends it's all right to be rubbish because it's Xmas and even that program about grumpy people being grumpy about Xmas is a repeat, which can't be said for that old biddy on the screen interrupting the 25th showing of a Harry Potter film, which are all rubbish, to drone on about the Commonwealth, which now consists of a small potting shed in the Pitcairn Islands, and about all the worthy flunkies in grace and favour housing she gave awards to in the year for doing something of no use to anyone better than anyone else, all those cakes and mince pies that get scoffed by late November so you have to buy more, the cheap booze that gets drunk by late October so you have to buy more, the disgusting liqueurs made out of cream, coffee, 100% proof vodka and aniseed flavoured sage and onion stuffing that nobody in their right mind would ever drink because they make you go blind and they taste disgusting, but it's Xmas so you trough your way through them along with the skip-size tins of teeth-rotting sweets and biscuits that you'd never feel inclined to eat at any other time of year but because it's Xmas you have to finish every rancid, sugar-coated morsel to stop it all going mouldy in the month you have to wait for the dustbin men to begin spilling your rubbish everywhere again on the way to the landfill sites the size of a small country that are all adding to the greenhouse effect, except global warming is all a myth anyhow because all those politicians and tree-huggers who jetted around the world trying to save the planet thought it was more important to organize another big get together some time next year despite the increasing danger that Bono will write a song about it, and then there's the monster-sized tubs of nuts, I love nuts but not in eighteen kilogram buckets that are six months past their sell by date and have the big slogan on them that they might contain nuts, and they make me feel like I'm turning into a nut when I've finished even though you can't buy real nuts any more, they have to be covered in salt and roasted, whatever happened to simple brazil nuts where you could have hours of fun trapping your fingers trying to snap off a bit and then break your teeth nibbling on something brown that smelt vaguely off, is that another health and safety thing where we can't be trusted to make our own nuts any more or did Brazil pave over all their rain-forests and kill off their nuts, and then there's Xmas carols with their message of peace and goodwill to all Mankind, well I hate Mankind, we're ruining the planet so war and badwill might just kill us all off and let someone else have a go who might make a better fist of it, and rotten Xmas songs with dreadful X-factor warblers and Cliff Richard and Noddy Holder's bad miming telling us what the day is as if we didn't know and Wizard wanting it to be Xmas every day so they can get even more royalties for their terrible song, and I hate turkey, it's the most pointless meat ever invented, if only it tasted like chicken it'd be fine but it tastes of nothing and you chew for hours and still it does nothing for you but give you heartburn and it always comes in ten-ton sizes and the alternative of goose is too expensive and duck is too fatty and the butcher didn't listen this year and so we ended up buying a pork loin that's slightly bigger than a hog on steriods and it'll take until next Xmas to defrost, so you end up eating something you don't like because it's Xmas such as brussel sprouts that smell like old socks and cabbage that ends up being boiled for three days beforehand and smells like old socks filled with brussel sprouts, and don't get me started on kids, oh look at their faces, aren't they happy, I don't want to see kids happy, I don't want to see kids, period, but it's Xmas and that excuses everything, but nothing but nothing can excuse Noel Edmonds appearing on my tv and It's a Wonderful Life sucks too, it's the most depressing movie ever made, and that weepy theatre luvvie Richard Attenborough is not Santa and neither is that smug sitcom actor Tim Allen and why isn't The Great Escape on again this year, apparently everyone knows that The Great Escape is the most seasonally relevant film ever made and so it's on every Xmas except for the simple fact that The Great Escape is never on at Xmas, and the only thing to look forward to is another Dr Who special except the specials are always rubbish, and then there's the weather, Heather the Weather retired yesterday so it's anyone's guess what the weather will be as the new weather forecaster looks about fifteen and anyway according to the BBC London is the only place in the world that gets weather, or news for that matter, but it's snowing now and I hate snow, slushy stuff making me fall over and get cold, and nobody ever clears away snow outside their doors any more except me because people fall over and sue them so they ignore the snow leading to even more people falling over, and other people are off work so you can't get stuff done and you just know you'll get a burst pipe or a yellow icicle will fall out of the sky and spear the cat and you can't get anyone to do anything about it, and then there's charities wanting money for something whiney probably involving kids and giving them happy faces for us to look at, and it gets dark about two hours before it gets light, and the one and only good thing about it all is that it's the only time of the year when you don't feel guilty about having a pint of whiskey in the morning, except afterwards you're an alcoholic, you're skint, you're fat, you're cheesed off, and you need a holiday and then just when you think you might have the joy of normality another great big fat pointless holiday comes along seven days later where you have to wish people you can't stand a happy Hogmanay, and rabid shoppers are buying enough toilet roll to build a fortress...

Merry Christmas, one and all!

4 comments:

Evan Lewis said...

Well said, Ian, I may just steal this and reprint it on cards for anyone unlucky enough to send me one next year, and as for you I think you should expand this into a book-length sentence to be published as the perfect gift for all the Scrooges of the world...

Laurie said...

Brilliant! James Joyce, Charles Dickens and Andy Rooney all rolled into one. This will be a Christmas classic in the future and one more thing to bitch and moan about.

Ray said...

Classic. Yay.

Oscar said...

I was singing right along until that Merry Christmas part!