What a crock o'...

Sherry and chocolate for breakfast. Gin for aperitif. Sprouts! Port for digestif. More chocolate. The Queen's King's Speech. Nothing to do but watch telly.

And this - another long-standing tradition!

Kevin bloody Wilson - Ho Ho Fucking Ho

Bah Humbug.

It's the eve...

...and I think I hear carol singers, with their old, familiar, traditional songbook, heading this way...

Supreme Fabulettes - You Ruined My Christmas

RIP, Vanilla Lush

Ren & Stimpy - I Hate Christmas

Fascinating Aida - The Christmas Song

Only today and tomorrow to go, and the Festering Season's over for another year. Hoorah!

Bah Humbug.

Gone away is the bluebird

It it all over yet? No..?

Ah well - on this Tacky Music Monday, as we head to the office again (for only a couple of days, admittedly), I might as well drag out the Del Rubio Triplets again!

Del Rubio Triplets - Winter Wonderland

Bah Humbug.

Nowhere near good enough to be an annual event

Christmas songs, all snowfall and merriment, are as realistic as a snowy village where children carol and adults carry armfuls of gaily-wrapped boxes. This is what it’s really like:

Catching a Replacement Bus Service Home for Christmas
The honest truth about festive travel is you’re dependent on the reliability and efficiency of the British transport infrastructure, which is fucked but makes up for it by being expensive. Of course your train has been cancelled, what did you expect? The resulting eight-hour bus journey will break you. Take a look at the passenger next to you. They’re just the same.

Simply Having A Traumatic Christmastime
"The mood is foul, our spirit’s low." When he vomited out his ditty, McCartney glossed over the logistics of arranging a Christmas which society tells you has to be perfect in every way. Emotionally difficult and wrought with financial anxiety, December would be a lot less stressful if you didn’t have to listen to him playing with the new synth he got from Linda.

It Began to Look a Lot Like Christmas About Four Months Ago
The Celebrations were piled high in late August. By the time the first door of the advent calendar was opened, it had been Christmas for months. Mince pies with best before dates in November had been bought, eaten, regretted, bought again. And you resented every lightly spiced mouthful.

I Wish it Could Be Christmas Once Every Three to Four Years
The trouble with the festive season is that, once you’re past 35, it’s always bloody Christmas. A longer break would make it easier to embrace the festive spirit. If it were like the Olympics it would work: gymnastics and archery, like Love Actually, are great fun every four years but nowhere near good enough to be an annual event.

All I Want for Christmas is Loads of Cool Expensive Stuff
Despite the rhetoric about it being family that matters, Christmas is about consumerism. A new iPad or diamond ring rekindles love more effectively than holding hands in snow. If anyone dared say to their partner ‘all you should want is me, so that’s all you’ve got’ they would swiftly find their gift to be baldly insufficient.

Flying in the Air
Enchanted snowmen don’t exist. Snow barely does. Budget flights to Prague, however, are very real and get you the fuck out of UK. Though the likelihood is that you’ll be Flying in the Air After Thirty-Six Hours in the South Terminal Getting Shitfaced in Wetherspoons and Passing Out in a Departure Lounge. The puddle on the floor will not be melted snow.

The Daily Mash

Of course.

Bah Humbug.

Thought for the Day

I'm with Myrna Loy.

Bah Humbug.