’twas the run up to Christmas

Bad Santa

’twas the run up to Christmas and, lo and behold,
thousands of folks trudging out in the cold.
Their hands and feet frozen, the wind in their eyes.
they scrambled to get to the last few Mince Pies

The slow and infirm were trampled in the scuffle
to get to the last box of cheap Belgian truffles
While countless poor souls were lost in the fight
for a bottle of wine, to toast Christmas night.

Suddenly, the crowd spun around with a yell
and charged all at once, like a pack out of Hell.
They bashed and they battered, they pushed and they shoved
For word had got out, “M&S!” “Sale on gloves!”

“My granny would love them”,”Forget her, their mine!”
“LET ME THROUGH, LET ME THROUGH!”,”OI! Back of the line!”
From my vantage point, by a display of ties,
I witnessed the horror with my very own eyes

As each shopper vied for a place in the queue
A little old lady hobbled into view.
I cried out a warning but alas, she heard not
and was trampled to naught but a small, greasy spot

Now dashing and darting, now punching and kicking
Biting and gouging, eye poking, ear flicking
I saw one woman wield a small boy, like a club
and I watched as the poor lad started to blub

So, ’twas a mercy, when she swung with such might
that he slipped from her hands and flew out of sight
(He was found, safe and sound, some thirteen days later
in a display of cardigans, near the escalator)

Without her weapon, she was soon overcome
By a tag teaming granny and stay-at-home mum
With a zimmer frame shot to the side of the head
and a kick to the ribs, they left her for dead

They fought tooth and nail over jackets and sweaters
to answer the wishes of loved ones Christmas letters
While, in the background, the Christmas muzak plays
the same track repeated for twenty-odd days.

Son against daughter, father against mother
they beat seven Jingle bells out of each other
charging through the store like stampeding cattle
soon, the shop Santa was drawn into the battle.

He leapt from his stage, with a blood curdling yell
and upon the crowd of naughty shop-goers he fell.
He had such broad shoulders, with arms like two trees
and a right hook which would bring a Clydesdale to it’s knees

A fearsome sight in his suit of bright red
he hoisted one old dear right over his head
and with a dark chuckle, brought her down through a stack
of cut price DVD’s, snapping her back.

At the sickening crunch, the shoppers took pause
such was the wrath of this store Santa Claus.
They could tell without doubt, Kris Kringle was pissed…

And so, boys and girls, the moral of our story
is to be kind to others, or face an ending most gory.
And I heard Santa roar, as I ran for my life

Merry Christmas everyone.

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”


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”


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?”


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”



Screw kids TV, time for “Muppet Christmas Carol”

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!
You know what, next year Mike and Barbara, don’t bother!
You send me a Christmas Card, i’m giving you the black spot.