As a true Slade fan, I am deeply angered by your refusal to explore their back catalogue

I AM a devoted Slade fan or ‘Sladean’, and you might think I’d love this time of year. Not so.

Every year the office Christmas disco rolls around, and you are surprised to find me glowering in the corner when Merry Christmas Everybody comes on (or ‘Here It Is, Merry Christmas’, as some ignoramuses would have it). “What’s the matter?” you inevitably ask, “I thought you’d be loving this!”

If only you fair-weather clowns could see through the eyes of a genuine devotee of the 80s Wolverhampton glam rock scene. For 11.8 months of the year I am a social pariah, my tight silver trousers, neon vest and 18 inch platform boots with frogs painted on them widely mocked by the clientele of the local All Bar One.

But while you office party drones may listen to Cum On Feel The Noize at a push, my exhortations to check out the real Slade, as showcased on 1984’s gritty Keep Your Hands Off My Power Supply or 1987’s potent return to form You Boyz Make Big Noize, tragically fall on deaf ears.

You ignorant, ignorant bastards. The best Slade track, as any serious glamorous rock aficionado knows, is I’m Mad from the b-side of 1979’s genre-defining Return to Base. But you don’t hear me say that because they’re too busy trying to drag me out of my seat “for a bit of a boogie”.

You’re never even heard of other Wolves-based vintage glam rock bands like Jelly Trousers, Video Sorcerers or Big Tits In Space. And nor will you, despite my best efforts. So I’ll be staying here on my chair thank you very much, while you conga around with your drunken ignorance of Noddy’s wider songwriting craft.

Frankly, you all make me sick.

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Office Christmas lunch not horribly awkward

A GROUP of workmates has had a Christmas lunch that was not unbearably awkward.

It is understood the office colleagues enjoyed several hours of relaxed camaraderie in a city centre bar.

A theory that the entire group was incredibly drunk was discounted after it emerged that each diner only consumed one alcoholic drink.

Professor Henry Brubaker, of the Institute for Studies, said: “The office Christmas lunch is a ritual marked by gritted teeth, awkward smiles, pissed, career-damaging speeches, pathetic unrequited lust, and embarrassing requited lust.

“The only way through it is to take regular trips to the toilet to hide and/or take drugs.”

He added: “It could be that these people are a one-off; a group of workmates who are entirely compatible both professionally and socially.

“Or they have all taken drugs.”