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Anyone that knows me well will tell you that my loathing of all things Christmas is legendary. At this time, a downward spiral to the depths of depression is usually medicated with skiing trips, where I can take a break relatively unaffected by the whole thing.

When a friend asked me to create something for his blog that demonstrates how I feel about Christmas, my answer was “Are you sure about this?”

Here’s the result (yes, I do know I’m a miserable git).

THE WAR ON CHRISTMAS

I really hate Christmas.

I hate the cloying, fake cheeriness. The perfunctory, self-cancelling gift exchanges on Christmas morning. Dubious, uncharitable ‘forced giving’ and the utter absurdity of peace on earth.

I hate en-mass turkey fisting, over priced Christmas hampers and hideous, hand knitted pullovers from distant aunties. I hate those frigging 10 disk Christmas compilation CD’s. I hate the words ‘Batteries not included’, blow-up Santas and rotting pine trees with tacky, epilepsy-inducing coloured luminaires.

I hate inter-galactic reindeers, sparkly xmas underpants and raucous, hyperventilating ankle-biters, unwrapping their gifts.

And is there anything that screams ‘Fuck you’ better than a box set of 50 identical Christmas cards? I don’t think so!

How many times can you hear ‘Last Xmas’ by ‘George bloody Michael’ in department stores before you want to asphyxiate random shoppers with bits of tinsel?

I hate compulsory cheeriness and masochistic family get-togethers. I hate fake snow. Tinsel. Christmas crackers and Advent calendars.

I hate misletoe, office staff parties and misty-eyed nostalgia for the past but most of all, I hate guys like me – that hate Christmas, who in their tiresome sameness are about as predictable and perennial as the customs they claim to loath.

So Merry Christmas? Not bloody likely.