Face it, it's f**king Christmas

SOURCES have confirmed that it may technically still be November but you might as well face the facts: it is f**king Christmas and there is no point pretending otherwise. 

Reports of it being freezing, dark by 4pm, the shops playing every bloody song that has a hint of seasonal connection and mince pies on the shelves all add up to it being Christmas. Sorry.

The public is advised that they can hide under the duvet all they like, but it will still be Christmas. There will still be snow on the letters on magazine titles. That Lidl advert that envisions a nightmare future where Lidl never dies will still be on.

The UK has concluded that it should stop lying to itself. That yes, it is going to be f**king tough. That yes, there are presents to buy and presents to wrap and extra presents to buy because you forgot about all the twats who are coming that you didn’t see last year.

The decorations need to come down from the loft. Lights must be strung outside the house, if you are the kind of dick who does that. If you are enough of an arsehole to go and buy a real tree, get going before only the bald, short ones are left.

Britain has also been warned that there will be a Christmas do, and it will suck whether it is a traditional one or some knobhead from marketing has suggested going to see Shed Seven. Attendance is mandatory.

It has been confirmed that there is nothing you can possibly do to avoid it. It is f**king Christmas. So you may as well start drinking.

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Musical 'legends' you'll get hate mail for rightfully calling out as shite

MUSIC history is littered with performers hailed as groundbreaking legends. Here are some you’ll get abuse for if you so much as hint they’re not musical geniuses.

The Clash

Punk visionaries or a bit of a pub band? Some weird, meaningless lyrics – how exactly does one go about ‘rocking’ a North African citadel? – and a lot of ultra-simple tunes. Still, at least they’re easy to play, although with ‘Should I Stay or Should I Go?’ you may not want to. 

Kate Bush

Nothing screams ‘pretentious, arty 6th form drama student’ more than devoting a song to the plot of an Emily Bronte novel while performing a painfully silly dance. The queen of the ear-crippling caterwaul, Kate had the chance to tell Peter Gabriel to stop whining on ‘Don’t Give Up’ but instead chose to join in.

The Stone Roses

Having a singer who can’t hit a single f**king note is usually a drawback for a band, but it didn’t trouble the Roses. Pity the sound engineers who had to sit through Ian Brown’s haplessly tuneless vocals night after night. Also think back to the up-our-own-arses outro to ‘Fool’s Gold’ which went on longer and more unpleasantly than a tantric shag with Sting.


Possibly okay during the Peter Gabriel years so long as you were a stoned art student with a silly wispy beard. But when bland professional Cockney Phil Collins took over, even that last vestige of respectability evaporated. ‘I Can’t Dance’ should have been called ‘I Can’t Write A Song That Isn’t Hopelessly Naff’. Your mum probably likes them too.

Bruce Springsteen

Controversial choice but worthy of inclusion just for that godawful rendition of ‘Santa Claus Is Coming To Town’. No one has ever been able to decipher what ‘Dancing In The Dark’ is about, although apparently ‘this gun’s for hire’. We do know unequivocally where Bruce was born, so at least that’s cleared up.

Jethro Tull

Naming yourself after an 18th century agriculturalist who invented something as boring as the seed drill should be a red flag right from the start. Having a frontman who can play the flute while standing on one leg might have been deemed novel and entertaining from a jester in a medieval court, but that’s probably where it needs to stay.