The Archbishop of Canterbury on… Christmas: as a wise man once said, stick it up your bollocks

19th December 2025

WAKING with a hangover so excruciating I vomit up chunks of my liver which unfortunately my dog snaffles before I can retrieve them, I reflect on an encounter earlier this year with Liz Truss.

The former prime minister had requested an audience with me for advice, both spiritual and material. As she stared at me with a mild look of insanity, I advised her thusly:

‘Ms Truss, you are, by reputation, a misunderstood maverick when it comes to economic matters. On that basis, I advise you to do this. Liquidate all your assets and convert them to cash. Then make a giant pile of banknotes and set fire to them.’

Truss nodded enthusiastically. ‘Your gesture will inspire confidence in both you and the markets that since you literally have “money to burn”, great riches will somehow follow, for both you and the country, rising from the ashes, as it were. Plus, the smoke will leave a small hole in the ozone layer, which is one in the eye for all those woke eco-terrorists.’

Excitedly, Truss went off and did as I advised. It may well be no coincidence that her next move was to launch her own YouTube show, apparently recorded inside a cupboard which may now double as her home.

With a wry smile, I take a light breakfast and peruse a periodical. Therein I read that Donald Trump berated the murdered film director Rob Reiner online, gloating that his fate was due to ‘Trump Derangement Syndrome’.

Fuck me, you great, unmoored, flatulence-filled, orange fucking balloon, you’re shaping up not just to be the worst American president of all time, but the worst fucking human being of all time! A monstrous, bloviating hulk of scum belching pure evil! I mean, what the fuck was that speech you gave the other night? Petrol now under $2 a fucking gallon? You brought peace to the Middle East for the first time in 3,000 years? Pure liquid, demented fucking goatshit! How do you even manage to pull up your fucking underpants first thing in the morning? Or do you? Is it the nappies doing the heavy lifting there?

The Telegraph’s Allison Pearson took to Twitter to complain that: ‘Nobody’s sons and daughters will rally to fight Russia… white working-class lads, for so long our warriors and defenders, have been reviled by the woke Leftist middle-classes. The UK will have to be defended by Gary Lineker and a few comedians.’

Jesus, oh for the clarity of thought and level-headed perspective of fucking Donald Trump! What the fuck are you professionally raving about? So, Russia declares war on the UK, our brave white British boys get into a sulk because Gary Lineker denigrated them somehow and refuse to fucking enlist, leaving Lineker, James Acaster and Frankie Boyle to fend off the Russkies? Do you smoke powdered bullshit from a crack pipe to come up with this bilge or fucking what? And wouldn’t 65-year-old Gary defending his country, however futilely, make him a national hero? Don’t tell me you haven’t thought this through, Allison. That’s so fucking unlike you!

FIFA has slashed the price of some World Cup tickets for teams’ most loyal fans following a global backlash. Some will get $60 seats for the final instead of being asked to pay $4,185, in a climbdown by FIFA president Gianni Infantino.

Haha, you felt the sting of that backlash like a fucking slap across your baldie head didn’t you, Infantino? It’s one thing staging a World Cup in the USA, it’s another to be staging it up Donald Trump’s fucking arse! You couldn’t pay me $4,185 to come to your Berlin 1936 of a fucking tournament, you oily little creepcunt! I hope it plays out to empty stadia, with the half-dozen or so people at each game lobbing fucking popcorn at giant images of the gurning Dear Leader!

Finally, as befits the festive season, this is my opportunity to wish my readers and parishioners, both at home and abroad, a happy and holy Christmas.

Well, fuck that and fuck fucking Christmas! Season of fucking shit music drizzling like relentless piss from supermarket ceilings, compulsory enthusiasm, filling a fucking sick, black void with fucking Quality Street, the same old year-round shit on TV except with the fucking word ‘Christmas’ plonked in front of it, and dodging puddles of vomit retched up by once-a-year drinkers in mid-afternoon! You can take it and stick it – like Mick McCarthy and the 2002 World Cup – up your fucking bollocks! Cuntmas, more like!

A confused millennial tries to… lock in on Christmasmaxxing

15th December 2025

By Josh Gardner, who wants a house price crash for Christmas

NOW the sacred feast of Cyber Monday is over, we’re fast approaching Boxing Day sales eve, or to use its preferred pronoun, ‘Christmas’.

I can’t wait for it. Christmas is a magical time where you stay with your parents and slip back into your childish self. Ok, no cap, I live like this anyway but at Christmas it’s acceptable.

But for the last few years? Christmas has fallen off. It’s in its flop era. The Xmas vibes are not vibing. Maybe because the world has gone to shit, maybe because I’m in my mid-thirties now, it’s hard to tell.

But I understand the assignment though. Festive cheer must be protected with the fervour of a Nicki Minaj stan, and I’ll deliver it by blocking out all distractions and locking in.

That’s right, I’m Christmasmaxxing. I’m Santa-pilled. I’m shaking-my-belly-like-a-bowl-full-of-jelly-core. And if you hate the sound of these words then I’m afraid to say this is your Scrooge unc origin story.

Being unable to do anything without a video tutorial, I fired up YouTube for inspiration. Two unskippable pre-roll ads and a six-hour detour into Simpsons conspiracy theories later, I’d learnt how to put up tinsel.

Deciding on the Christmas tree was more difficult. Would a real one be cultural appropriation of Sami culture? Would a plastic one be bad for the environment, or more friendly in the long run? I went for whichever was cheapest.

As for the food, Christmas wouldn’t be a Yuletide event without turkey, sprouts, and pigs in blankets. Mum really came in clutch because I don’t know how to cook and Huel hasn’t released a festive flavour yet.

The only thing that was left to sort was the presents. And seeing as I’ve been lucky enough not to be able to afford to have kids, I don’t have to buy anything! I just handed my parents my list, which was a piece of piss.

Christmas? Done like a Dubai-based influencer. No idea why folks are so triggered by it. It’s a safe space of yuletide energy for me. When’s Home Alone on?