Kinky Christmas sex presents you'll both pretend you never bought each other

WHO’S naughty? Who’s nice? Whose relationship has become nothing but boringly nice when it used to be spiritedly naughty?

If all you want for Christmas this year is a blowjob, it’s tempting to lay out some cash on sexy presents for your lover to guarantee you get some. But will it work, or are you spending the season too pissed to feel anything but faintly nauseous?

Lingerie

Every year hopeful husbands with half a hard-on spend thousands on lacy lingerie they’ll see in semi-darkness for all of three minutes, when they could have bought an iPhone, a babysitter or a trip to a massage parlour.

Instead here you are, shivering in your Arctic bedroom, squeezed into a babydoll nightie with fast-shedding faux-fur adornments that dig into your bum fat like string on a Christmas ham. And this was a present for you?

Novelty sex toys

Is there Christmas-themed sex toys, involving cartoonish, childhood images that have no place being mixed with foreplay? They seemed fun when you were on Ann Summers late and drunk but now the moment’s come do you really want Santa’s freaky face on a pair of stick-on nipple vibrators? A dildo in the shape of a candy cane? A butt plug with a sleigh bell attached? And they’ll be a fucker to regift.

Christmas sex games

From sex crackers to kinky festive boardgames: what made you think this was a good idea? When the kids are off and liable to wander into your bedroom at any moment? Chances are you’re not even home but wedged into a single bed at your mum’s while an elderly aunt snores next door. And if you’re throwing sex dice, the metaphor’s overtaken the reality.

A sex swing

You’ve always thought about taking the leap into full-on swinger territory and Christmas seemed idea to oblige your boyfriend to join you. But it’s ambitious for a couple having one vanilla sex session a week to assume they’re just an item of furniture away from acrobatic orgasms. This requires ceiling bolts, like a chandelier. It’ll never get hung.

Naughty Christmas ornaments

Two gingerbread men bumming, a snowman holding a sign that reads ‘expect 6-8 inches tonight’, hairy chocolate ball-balls which in the plain light of day are just alarmingly realistic white chocolate scrotums hanging from a hook. How in the hell did you think these would be funny, let alone sexy? They should be marked ‘For Secret Santa only’. They should ask at the till.

The Archbishop of Canterbury on... that flaccid cock Clarkson

WAKING in some sort of a manger I am aware of the presence of livestock, and three crowned figures stepping forward, bearing scented gifts. 

A beam of light from above shines upon my countenance. Could it be that I have been reborn as the infant Jesus, sent to spread wisdom and salvation among mankind a second time? They could, I feel, do worse.

The truth alas is more prosaic: after a late evening with the Bishop of Lambeth, unable to find my way home, I broke into a school hall and bedded down in a cot behind a large curtain which rises to reveal the wise men are children, the livestock stuffed animals and staring at me aghast, rows of parents watching the school nativity.

Hoisting myself upright I offer a blessing, then repair to my chambers where I read that Jeremy Clarkson has insincerely apologised for wishing Meghan Markle stripped and pelted with excrement. Others have wondered if Jeremy Clarkson’s critics are unable to take a joke.

Mother Mary’s underused undercarriage, his critics can take a fucking joke. What they can’t take is a cunt! A gurgling, ironed-jeaned, self-satisfied, ignorant cunt, and a misogynistic menace to boot! It was a fucking Game Of Thrones fantasy, was it? Funny because my fantasy, also loosely based on Game Of Thrones, involves you being hoist by your greying fucking knackers 40 feet in the air by a dwarf, pelted with white wolf faeces and roasted alive by dragon fire! And every twat my age, or any other age for that matter, feels the same fucking way!

Rishi Sunak has defended the government’s policy on nurse’s pay, stating that is ‘reasonable’ and best for the country in the long term.

What’ll be best in the fucking long term is that you are run out of Downing Street, preferably on some sort of rail, to go down in history as the last ever fucking Conservative Prime Minister joining the fucking Liberals and the Whigs on the shitheap of terminal obsolescence! ‘Reasonable’? You’d slit your throat if you were reduced to living per week on what the average fucking nurse earns in a year, you shortarsed, moneysuckling little prick!

Cliff Richard is to appear alongside Philip Schofield and Holly Willoughby this Christmas in a special, festive edition of This Morning.

Seriously, Cliff, you? Still? What the fuck are you hanging on for? I mean, really, what’s the fucking point? How many more Wimbledons are you planning on infesting with your singalongs? What, are you gonna do a fucking Vera Lynn on us? Or are you in a race to outlive Keith Richards that you’re never gonna win? Your whole life has been one long waste of a fucking penis!

Finally, Tory MP Rebecca Pow has suggested that as a means of avoiding waste, people should iron old wrapping paper to reuse each Christmas.

There she is, folks, Rebecca fucking Pow, saving the planet one sheet of fucking paper at a time. With the massive wastage we’ll avoid by ironing last year’s wrapping, which of course we’ve all fucking kept, we won’t offset half the electricity used for the iron for which we’ll need a new coal mine to generate! Full of fucking bright ideas, aren’t you? Did you change your name from ‘Powell’ to ‘Pow’ to save the energy used typing the extra letters? Clueless fucking clothhead!