The most f**king annoying end of year lists of 2022

DO we really need a lengthy round-up of the TV shows a bunch of broadsheet journalists enjoyed? Apparently so. And it should be in the form of a list. Let’s count down the rest.

The best TV shows of 2022

If your TV highlight of 2022 was the cast of Married at First Sight flouncing around in horrible clothes calling each other f**ktards, then be proud of your base but genuine tastes. It won’t appear on the Guardian’s list but that’s because they’re just proving how TV-literate they are and pretending Succession is for intellectuals, the pompous twats. 

The best festive gift ideas of 2022

Men: whisky, gadgets, aftershave. Women: gin, slippers, perfume. Neither sex has any hobbies and interests other than these, if the Christmas gift idea lists are to be believed. Although they’ve been bullshit since they started sometime in the 1980s. Before that you could just give everyone a packet of fags and they’d be grateful. Even the kids.

The best jazz albums of 2022

This chin-stroking, pretentious list tends to appear in the Observer, to make people who think listening to jazz makes them interesting feel it was worth abusing their ears all year. For people who don’t listen to jazz, the only interest it will hold is briefly marvelling that enough jazz albums are still released each year to warrant a whole list.

The most popular songs of 2022

A great list in the olden days, now sadly scuppered by the fact it’s based on streaming which means popular shite from a couple of years back is still hanging around. You hated Adele’s mope-a-thon Easy On Me when it came out last year and you aren’t going to change your mind just because some tasteless wankers have had it on repeat ever since.

The worst political moments of 2022

Not just depressing because of the current state of the UK, but also because it should be about 40 pages long, given the f**k-ups that have happened this year. And a good third of it would be taken up by twats like Liz Truss and Kwasi Kwarteng, and no one’s feeling nostalgic about them.

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Seven bands who needed to dial down the Northernness a bit

THERE’S celebrating your regional identity and there’s boring people shitless with it. These Northern bands veered well into the latter:

The Fall

An ever-rotating cast around moaning Salford git caricature Mark E Smith, a tiny fraction of whose random hates included: Joe Strummer, TV box sets, Blade Runner, Lloyd Grossman and scruffy dressing (‘There’s no need. Primark sells some alright stuff at a fair price.’) A legend, but not one you’d like to go on a long car journey with.

The Housemartins

Their 1986 debut album was London 0 Hull 4, referring to the number of good bands in the respective cities at the time, which must have come as a shock to Eurythmics, Madness, Bronski Beat and countless other shit bands no one liked.


From the north side of Manchester. Proved how Madchester they were with their single Shall We Take A Trip, containing the least subtle drug references in musical history: ‘Shall we take a trip down memory lane’, ‘head into the clouds in the acid rain’, and the unambiguous ‘Sing LSD, sing LSD’. They may as well have called it Please Ban This Druggie Song. And the BBC did.

Happy Mondays

Youth doesn’t get much more scally than Shaun Ryder’s in Greater Manchester: ‘robbing’, not learning the alphabet until he was 28, drugs, shagging housewives, working on a building site at 13. The very definition of rough-as-f**k Manchester, tales of him are still used to frighten Southern students to this day.

The Farm

From Liverpool, in case you hadn’t noticed. Peter Hooton was well into socialism, and their plodding hit All Together Now was about working class solidarity. However Groovy Train is just about a train where everyone is off their heads on drugs. Which might explain the service on TransPennine Express and Avanti.

Joy Division

Manchester is not the loveliest city compared to, say, Vienna, but it seems Joy Division lived in a part that was an ultra-bleak, dehumanising, existential future dystopia. With songs are as upbeat and chirpy as She’s Lost Control and New Dawn Fades, you wonder where that Northern sense of humour’s gone. Unless Ian Curtis was joking?

The Smiths

Morrissey turned Northern gloom into an art form. How Soon Is Now? is about going clubbing being suicidally depressing, Rusholme Ruffians reminds us that going to a funfair is grim and fatal, and Heaven Knows I’m Miserable Now describes an average day north of Crewe. Still, it’s good-time party music compared to what he’s become.