No, Diego, No.

It’s time for number 7 on our “10 Things I Hate About Yule” countdown, Children’s Christmas television.

Just this morning, I have heard every Christmas song ever written, most of which were sung by that dancing douche of a dinosaur, Barney.
The Barney Christmas episode is a crime against humanity, but nothing could compare to the terror which followed.
I have, in one day, seen Santa’s sleigh pulled by a llama (Go, Diego, Go), a stuffed donkey (My Friends Tigger And Pooh) and Pluto, Mickey’s lifelong canine companion (Mickey’s Clubhouse) and, inexplicably, the only animal in his world which CAN’T bloody talk.
What sort of message is this sending to my Children?

ME: “Well kids, what are you asking Santa for this year?”

DAUGHTER: “I’m asking for a bike, Daddy”

SON: “BEN 10! BEN 10! CHOO CHOO!”

ME: “Uh-huh, uh-huh. So, do you think you’re going to get those nice

presents that you asked for?”

DAUGHTER: “Oh yes Daddy, we’ve been ever so good”

SON: “BAM! LOOK, FIRE! BEN 10!”

ME: “Don’t burn your sister son. So, you’ve been good, but I still don’t

think you’ll get any presents kids”

DAUGHTER: “OH NO! Why not Daddy?”

SON: “WABEESH! NEEEEE-OW! DAKKA DAKKA DAKKA!”

ME: “Because Santa is an ineffectual tit who can’t get from A to B without the aid of assorted fictional characters, to be honest, if he gets four feet from the North pole without banking into a snow drift and freezing to death, i’ll be surprised”

DAUGHTER: “D-D-D-DAAAADDDYYYYYY!!!”

SON: “EXPLOSION FUNNY! BOOM!”

Screw kids TV, time for “Muppet Christmas Carol”

You may call me P.

Picture, prey, a purulant putz and his pusillanimous pursuivant, a puissant pair as pleasant as a purulent pudendum.
Though promise and pledges were proffered, this polychracy (for they are no psephocracy) seems bent on ptochogony.
Their politics, preposterous! This piffling party shows a predilection toward pseudomania and pseudosophy.
Protest proudly and without pudor, for this parliament plans only to purloin and pilfer that which pertains to your future plans.
Periculous though my proposal may prove, my purpose is now plain.
I shall bring pain and persecution to this piacular plutocracy, which seeks solely to pinguefy with pennies from our pockets.
Pardon my pleniloquence, for parrot like I prattle, so it remains only to add that I am pleased to meet you and you may call me P.

(Many thanks to http://phrontistery.info/p.html)

I’m buying a dog.

Bringing you number 8 on my “10 Things I Hate About Yule” countdown (soon to be a three hour E4 special hosted by Jimmy Carr.)

8. Christmas Cards

I awoke this morning to a terrifying sound, the sound of letters falling
from my letterbox, to the doormat.
This would be enough to induce fear any time of year, due to the likelihood of bills which I would really rather not pay, but during this festive season there is an extra element of dread.
Having retrieved the pile of envelopes, I checked through, bill, bill, bill,
“To The Occupier”, bill…and there it was, a poorly handwritten, red
envelope with a gittish little Santa stamp in the corner.
Now, Christmas cards are a delight to receive, when they come from someone you give half a damn about, but last year we had nearly 200 cards.
I don’t know 200 people, certainly not 200 people that I like.
I opened the envelope, was nearly buried in an avalanche of not-so-festive sodding glitter and then read the hurried scrawl within the card.
At the bottom of the card, sure enough…
“Love Mike & Barbara”
Who in the name of Kris Kringle are Mike & Barbara?
I don’t think I know a single Barbara, except Windsor and she struck me off of her Christmas card list after “the incident”.
Checked with the wife, no clue who Mike and/or Barbara could be.
So now, we’re stuck with a card from someone we do not know, with no return address.
This is fine by me, I wouldn’t send them a card if I knew their address,
hell, I wouldn’t give them a Christmas card if I had a spare in my hand and they walked through the door.
Not that it would matter, because I wouldn’t recognise them, BECAUSE I DON’T KNOW WHO THEY ARE!
But of course now my wife is, on an hourly basis, popping up with questions like “Perhaps you went to school with a Mike or a Barbara. Did you go to school with a Mike or a Barbara?”
I…what? Possibly! I neither know nor care!
SHE’LL OBSESS ABOUT THIS UNTIL NEW YEARS!
You know what, next year Mike and Barbara, don’t bother!
You send me a Christmas Card, i’m giving you the black spot.

Overly commercial? Pfft…

It’s time for number nine on my countdown, “10 Things I Hate About Yule” and it’s a doozy.

9. Christmas Adverts

Ok, the Coca Cola advert IS Christmas, I will accept that (despite the fact that i’m always secretly hoping that the truck will skid off the road and take out a few of those smug looking kids, but never mind that)
However, there have been some truly diabolical Christmas adverts over the years, which just make me want to punch the nearest Santa in the sack.
Here some of the worst offenders of 2010:

i) Waitrose – Delia Smith cooks some beef

Ok, first and foremost, don’t tell me how to cook beef at Christmas.
Some people might not like turkey, I don’t care, if they don’t want to eat turkey, the chances are they already know how to prepare their preferred alternative.
Secondly, it’s a commercial break, I don’t want a cookery show inbetween segments of whatever i’m watching which, considering the glut of them on the moron box these days, is likely to be a cookery show.
Last of all, Delia uses the term “shimmeringly hot”. Shimmeringly. Hot.
I swear to god Smith, I will Hansel & Gretel you in a heartbeat.

ii) John Lewis – Ellie Goulding winges and we see various morons

Am I seriously the only person who wants the kid at the end to get savaged by that dog?
I think I could cope with this advert, people wrapping presents, Christmas spirit, yadda yadda yadda.
But what the hell is with the Ellie Goulding song?
If you like Ellie Goulding, good for you, I hope they find a cure one day.
But like her or not, would a Christmas song have been so hard to come by for this ad?
I know people who wept when they saw this advert. WHY?! WHY?!?!
I can only imagine they were thinking about John Lewis’ prices…

iii) Coca Cola – Yup. The trucks.

Yes, in a twist worthy of Shyamalan, well, better than Shyamalan, i’ve come back round to the Coca Cola advert.
My issue with this advert has nothing to do with the advert itself, it’s the fact that everyone is whittering on about it on Facebook, Twitter, MySp…ok so no-one is on MySpace, but everywhere else.
Yes, it is a truly festive commercial.
Yes, it has become a Christmas tradition.
No, I do not care whether or not you’ve seen it yet.
Yes, I will come to your home and garotte you with your own fairy lights if you mention it again.

There are thousands of other adverts but i’ve got to go scan every channel for hours until I see those Coca-Cola trucks.

Back soon with number eight…

Noel? Oh hell…

You’ll be amazed to hear that I love Christmas. Honestly.
Good food, gifts, people generally being nicer to each other, what’s not to like?
Well, plenty, as it happens.
You see, I love the idea of Christmas but find that, often times, the reality fails to match up to the ideal.
So, if you will forgive me a terrible pun, in the run-up to Christmas I will be
presenting you with “10 Things I Hate About Yule” (Clever, right?)
Coming in at ten, it’s the ever hated…

10. Christmas Lights

Oh don’t worry, i’m not complaining about folks decorating their houses with string after string of gaudy, flickering, seizure-inducing chaser lights.
It’s ME having to string up the lights which I object to.
Who in Lucifer’s name invented the Incredible Self Tangling Wire (TM) which these things are made out of?
Last year, I coiled my lights very carefully, placed them in a box, sealed the box, placed it in the loft, locked the loft and barricaded the area.
No-one came in, no-one came out, I know damn well that no-one could have gotten to those lights.
This year, when I retrieved the lights, they had coiled themselves into something resembling the Gordian knot and I found the bodies of three mice in the box, clearly strangled to death.
Of course, when I finally managed to untangle the lights, they didn’t work anyway.
I replaced every single bulb, three times over, to no avail.
I checked the fuse, all was well there.
Finally, I shook them angrily, turned them on and off several times, blew the fuses in the house, cursed Christmas and all who revelled in it, replaced the fuses, turned the power back on and lo, Al said “Let there be light” and there was, 40 tiny twinkling bulbs.
Next year, i’m going back to the traditional candles and if the house burns to the ground, sod it.

Tune in for our next exciting episode, number 9!