Christmas lights going up a chilling harbinger of horror to come

THE sight of a town’s Christmas lights going up is a terrifying glimpse of the nightmarish festivity on its way.

People witnessing the lights being erected in Winchester have been filled with a cold sense of dread as they realise the season of expensive gift-giving and familial obligations is hanging over them like a festive executioner’s axe.

Onlooker Emma Bradford said: “Seeing illuminated stars and angels being fixed into place only means one thing: the next six weeks are going to be a living Hell.

“They may look enchanting and whimsical, but don’t be deceived. Like animals feeling restless before a storm, they’re a grim warning that a catastrophe is brewing. Although I’d rather suffer through a hurricane than my son’s nativity play.”

Martin Bishop said: “They may not spell it out explicitly, but these lights are telling you to either hunker down or immediately flee to a country that doesn’t observe Christmas, like China.

“It’s going to get worse before it gets better. Towns will be clogged with shitty markets. Offices will throw massively inconvenient parties. Children will expect you to orchestrate magical experiences, all while you try to navigate the normal stresses of daily life.

“The only way to avoid the relentless onslaught of Christmas whimsy is to die, and come mid-December that will feel awfully tempting. Merry Christmas, one and all.”

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Oh, like you've never pretended to be a high-ranking admiral at a Remembrance event

IT’S the hypocrisy I hate. We’ve all done crazy shit for kicks in late middle-age. But suddenly it’s only me who fakes being an admiral on Remembrance Sunday.

Okay, a couple of my medals clashed. I didn’t have the ‘right shirt collar’, whatever that is. Dude. I was absolutely off my box on honouring our fallen. So I wasn’t on top of every little detail.

And yet everyone’s ‘Who is this fake Navy officer?’ as if they’ve never slipped into a flight commander’s uniform and joined a parade, red-faced, pupils massive, bolt-bloody-hard.

What harm did it do? ‘Oh no, those who made the ultimate sacrifice in two world wars have been inappropriately paid tribute!’ Like they’d care. I laid that wreath like a f**king boss, I promise you. Not one person in attendance criticised my wreath-laying. It was bang on.

Also, it’s not like I rocked up at the Whitehall Cenotaph and faked being a sea lord with the big boys. It was Llandudno. Most of that crowd was genuinely thrilled by my presence until pedantic bastards ruined it for them.

I don’t judge others. When I see a guy I know for a fact never made it past the Territorials dolled up as an air commodore at an air show, I let him have his fun. When Dave lets slip he was in the SAS down the pub, I keep schtum.

While I’m doing this I’m not doing the truly offensive shit men of a certain age get into, like commenting on models’ Instagrams or huffing xenophobia at hotel protests. The uniform goes back in the wardrobe and nobody gets hurt.

The admiral’s blown. But look for me in a town near you with a chestful of medals next November 11th. I’ll be the veteran on the mobility scooter.