Since I was a young whipper-snapper I’ve always been one of those insufferable souls that gets excited about Christmas in September, desperately flicking through the Argos catalogue and deciding which doll head I should ask Father Christmas for this year. In fact one of my fondest memories from my teenage years isn’t getting shit-faced off of cheap cider in the park but spending every Sunday evening alone watching ‘National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation.’
Inevitably though, the joy I once got from hearing ‘Mariah Carey’ on the radio or watching Christmas specials of ‘Airline’ slightly diminishes each year, rather ’tis the season to get fat and drunk. Whilst skulking round the shops today, being shoved into stands of Christmas themed head wear by angry middle-aged women and their prams I’ve realised I’ve lost all of my Christmas spirit. I hate secret santa, fiddly decorations and the fact that I now have think about bills and paying rent as well as which £3 Impulse gift set I should buy my friends. The only thing getting me through this holiday period is that it’s acceptable to wear red lipstick and drink alcohol during the day, bah humbug indeed!