The Scrooge appreciation society

Christmas gets on a lot of people's nerves. I'm one of them.

That bloody word, Crimbo. Oh doesn't it get on my tits.

The mental queues that could piss over the maze in Stanley Kubrick's The Shining. Think HMV Oxford Street on 22 Dec without doubt the biggest queue ever seen in my life. Along with any underwear section as you get elbowed left, right and centre by the hordes who are checking out y-fronts, socks and trunks for the second cousin's boyfriend that they briefly met in 1999.

The only time of the year in which no shame is there towards the most amazing waste of money ever - especially on paper, cards, useless decoration and clutter.

The unprecedented smothering of feelgood ads and crap TV programmes, expectations of how great and merry Christmas time should be, how it's all perfect with our wonderful families and friends and you're fucked if your having a hard time in life. Step in the growing army of those 'non-privileged' poor sods who have to work round Xmas time i.e. puke cleaners in pubs, shop assistants or NHS staff.

The saccharine music, the jingles, the overpriced reissues of trite Xmas compilations. As naff as anything humans could ever come up with since the olden days of Jurassica. And the bells are never enough to fill the air, and the cliched kids choirs are never high-pitched enough as you irately scramble for the remote control or towards the nearest department store exit. I suppose it simply brings my social ineptitude to the fore...And yet...

The artificial, rammed-down-your-throat, association with people you have nothing in common with -at best- or you despise -at worst. Which cunting masochist decided that extended family gathering have to take place at Christmas? There's got to be some bleedin' reason if you never otherwise spend time with those folks at any other time of the year ever??!!

All that solemn gift-unwrapping bollocks as your body get on painted-smile-mode cos chances are it's something crass, inappropriate or utterly useless you're unwrapping in front of embarrassing, scrutinising eyebulbs. And viceversa, hoping that your customary gift to the unknown characters you've seen about twice in your adult life is not gonna be deemed worthless. But can you blame them?? You've got to do it for Xmas.

And the moment the door shuts one bit of the family bitches on the other bit of the family...and the rows...and the wasted money...the showing off...the guilt-trips...the social ineptitude...and the whining grannie with the achey joints and the tension-spawn cooking that could -incidentally- feed the entire population of Ethiopia, forget Live 8 and Live Aid and Band Aid put together. And they all talk about pressure, stress and unwinding...

Oh aren't I bitter...Well, don't say it too loud, I know I'm not alone here...