CHRISTMAS is coming, yet unaccountably all our Christmas songs fail to mention the unstinting alcohol abuse which is the hallmark of the season. That can be fixed: 

‘Getting smashed for Christmas, I’ve necked a litre of Baileys’ 

The Chris Rea classic updated to replace all that burdensome driving with the equally happy solitary activity of getting shitfaced. Evokes the camaraderie of the season with the line ‘I take a look at the drinker next to me, he’s just the same.’ Really summons the spirit of Wetherspoons on December 14th.

‘Pissed up fine, on Goldschlager and wine’ 

The lyrics Cliff Richard would have written if he hadn’t been so confused he thought Christmas had something to do with God. Goldschlager, because it tastes of cinnamon, is a wonderfully festive drink and doesn’t mix at all well with a dry Riesling. You’ll be clutching the toilet bowl and heaving by midnight, and isn’t that what it’s all about?

‘Good King Wenceslas last looked out, absolutely steaming’ 

What could be more in keeping with the joy and goodwill to all men of Christmas than looking out, seeing someone less fortunate than yourself, and inviting him in for a few cans? ‘Ye who now will bless the poor shall yourselves find blessing,’ as the song says, when you discover he’s got a bottle of gin on him.

‘One more drink’ 

The Leona Lewis classic that provides all her non-investment income, reimagined. ‘Five more evenings swigging jeroboams, four more days of vodka on my own, three more hangovers cured with ouzo, two more crates of Desperados, one more drink!’ Etcetera. Gives licence to be creative with both drink and rhyme.

‘Pissing against the Christmas tree, cause I don’t give a f**k’ 

For the hardened home drinker for whom the Yuletide hearth is so cosy and their three litres of white cider such a beloved friend they can’t be parted from them even to urinate. The good news? When you’re that drunk, it may not be a tree. There may not be a hearth, or a home. You very likely aren’t even indoors, and have not been for some years.

‘Well I wish I could be this drunk every day’ 

Isn’t that how we all feel, once the festive period gets into the swing and morning prosecco inevitable? That every day of our dreary lives could be improved with the application of strong brown alcohol and cheery, repetitive song? Roy Wood has rarely been heard of since 1973 and this song. That’s likely why.