Boring and Ugly Crimbo Special: 1st Anniversary!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

22nd December

I’m not sure I’m getting the point of The News. I’m sure it’s meant to be sad and gritty, but all I can think about is clothes and how good people look when they die young.

The Stephen Lawrence enquiry has revealed some great 90s clothes collected as evidence. With a 90s revival nearing the end, I am still in love with the clothes I would have been wearing back then had I been cool.

What an outfit! Jazzy jacket, sparkly cardi, pink polo shirt and high waisted acid-wash jeans. When I look round today and see all these draw-string grey tracky bottoms, v neck t shirts and silly bobble hats, I despair. Think about it people- do you really want to die dressed head-to-toe in Primark?


24th December

A relationship is a relay team, and each couple passes on their own make of baton. Ours is misery and irritation. All last night and this morning, Esther has had the full blown grumps.

“What’s the point? Christmas day is just like any other- we’ll get up, eat till we’re sick, walk the dogs, watch TV and go to sleep”

The thing is, when I think about it, that’s true. Coz Esther doesn’t work, this isn’t a holiday or a treat for her. It’s just another day.I cling onto hope when Weasel and Kung Fu, Esther’s parents, ring up and invite us for coffee.

Surely she won’t dare ruin their day too?

Of course she will- that’s her sacred role in the sisterhood.

We go for Eggnog Lattes in Starbucks with them and Lisa. Weasel has promised to buy a winter hat for Esther. She gets out the brochure for her to choose from.

Weasel- “Choose your top 4 from here”

“I don’t want one” she petulates (this should be a word- I’ve written it, so now it is)

A look of weary resignation flits across Weasels face. Lisa rolls her eyes.

“Give it here then” Esther chides, snatching the leaflet from Kung Fu’s hand, and without seeming to look, scrawls numbers next to  pictures.

“You didn’t even look at that!” says Lisa in horror

“Yes I did; white’s the best colour, so I chose the whitest then numbered down from there”.

We are clearly dealing with a genius here, for whom simple tasks like this are odious and best treated with contempt. She is Big Bang Theory’s Sheldon in foreshortened female form.

"Whosoever invented this should be flayed alive!"

Well you know what, now it’s time for my go with the bastard baton. It always changes from red to green in my hand though- from misanthropy to jealousy when passed from a middle to an only child. a week ago we paid £15 for the runtiest tree we could find. It leans over drunkenly like my erection.

Now, on Christmas Eve, the trees that were for sale at the bottom of our road have been abandoned. Lisa and Dom can take their pick, and choose one 3 times the size of ours, for free! In what universe are the poor allowed to triumph over the rich with such smugness? What’s the point of having ostentatious spending, if other people are going to get the same stuff for free??

I know I should be thinking “It warms the cockles of my heart to see the Tiny Tim’s of the world smiling”

But instead it’s “I want a tree that big! Maybe I should have two trees, then I’ll win!” Winning in my mind is a vague concept, something to do with the unhindered accumulation of stuff. I guess it comes from the entitlement of being the golden child backed into a corner by a real world full of grasping hands.

Suffice to say, when we both got home we had snapped the baton in half and carved each others faces with it.

Esther- “I’m not going to wrap your presents…”

Me- “Why not?”

Esther- “Coz I hate wrapping presents. I can’t be bothered”

Me- “Well, we can put them in plastic bags at least…?”

Esther- “I can do what I like. You can do what you like”

She stomps upstairs for a snooze.

“Don’t go to sleep” I call after her plaintively

“Why not?”

“Erm, because we can go and watch Christmas TV…?”

“I’m bored of TV”

“We can…tidy up?”

This isn’t going to work. She grunts and disappears. Why can’t I think of anything to do anymore? My excitement is draining away. What’s the point of anything?

I trudge upstairs to bed.


What if God was a Happy Slapper?

Gary Glitter has found God, and is releasing a cover of Joan Osborne’s ‘classic’ What if God was one of Us? Here’s a taster of his revised lyrics:

What if God was one of us?

Just a paedo on the bus?

Trying to make it with your only son?

Catchy. And thought provoking. What if God was one of us? We are after all fallen, sinful and downright nasty compared to Mr squeaky clean upstairs. Original sin is a pretty shitty inheritance:

“Gee thanks mom and pop, I can’t have a car, but I’ve got a plot waiting in hell for me”

And if God was one of us, he’d be heading the same way.


I have just watched the Bible-bashing episode of GLEE (Grilled Cheesus), and it sickened me. Even the militant atheists (Sue and Kurt) felt the power of faith by the end. America can’t help but bring God into it, and then make him rape your face.

And who’s God huh? I’m sure there’s a few Muslims and Sikhs and Hindus etc at Glee school too, what about their gods? They may as well be damned atheists as far as the Christian Right is concerned.

Egg1 "I've found God!" Egg2 "No that's just my ass"

People only find God when they’re in a pickle. When your life turns to shit, you get so desperate that you will cling to anything. Even a God shaped floating shit.

But I don’t want to sound like Richard Dawkins (what a religious nut!). During my grumpy phase (still ongoing), my dad wisely said “you need some spirituality in your life” in a gently ‘you’ll see’ voice. Being a teenager, I blew a raspberry and stomped back upstairs to listen to Megadeth.

"Excuse me, where can I get those clothes pegs?"

However, the seriousness of adulthood has given me cause to think back about this possibility. But I can’t do it. Maybe nothing bad enough has happened to me to make me desperate to believe (but saying this makes me touch the God of wood)- or maybe it has and I just can’t? How bad does it have to get?

Maybe on my deathbed I’ll repent: Catholicism offers the best last resort. Do what you want, as long as you say sorry afterwards. Madonna and her clones make me want to get faithed up- the videos for Like a Prayer and Alejandro are hot. I haven’t seen a titillating Muslim yet, but I’m sure it’ll happen. If I were a Muslim, I’d think all women were prick teases, walking around and talking and asking for it. Yeah right.

If I were Christian, I’d think that sex was so important it has to be saved up. Talk about pressure. How disappointing when your adult body can only fumble like a naïve teenager. How shit if you can’t come- but God wants you to do it in the name of procreation. You’re a vessel of God; not so different from a Communist selflessly working for the greater good is it? How shit to defer your own pleasure for the chance of an afterlife that may never happen.

"Peace be with you?"

It’s not that I refuse to believe, it’s that I don’t know how. I went to a church one Sunday because I felt hungover and guilty about having spent money and had a good time. I accidentally dressed all in black that day, and together with my red eyes and boozey stench I got some funny looks. The vicar kept banging on about the anti-Christ and I’m sure he was looking at me. The discomfort continued when everyone suddenly started shaking each other’s hands. Oh god I though as it got to my turn: some prim bourgeoisie invaded my personal space to look into my eyes and say “peace be with you”. My fake smile trembled under their prolonged gaze. Get me the fuck out of here I prayed to the anti-Christ.

I’m not anti-faith. I just hate the way religious people can’t just think

‘I am happy and secure in my belief, and everyone else is welcome to their (non) belief’.

But no, they think ‘Heathens are abominations and must be forcibly converted even if we all die in the process’.

"Hell = A world full of Michael Keatons"

What they don’t realise is that if we were all perfect and faithful, the world domination that bible bashers bash their bibles for, religion would be obsolete.

Without the drive to convert, chastise, commiserate and coddle non-believers, what is there left for the god-botherer to do?

And without a punishment (hell), heaven isn’t a reward. It’s just the place that everyone goes. What’s the point of being good if you’re going to end up there anyway?

If everyone could shop at Waitrose, or if everyone was paid the same, what would be the point of any other shops or having a career, or being ambitious? Having competition relies on ambition, greed, and the drive to have something so someone else can’t have it.

"I'm going to scream and scream until I'm sick"

All these nasty, selfish traits that ruin the world are nicely encapsulated in the brain of an only child. I should know, I am one.

The only child never has to learn to share- and remains forever resentful that the world refuses to provide them with the attention they deserve, the sticky-fingered attention their parents gave them.

They may never come to terms with the fact that other people get stuff that they can’t have.

Esther often forces me to share with Lisa and Dom.

“But having this thing that you’re making me share is the only thing that makes me better than them!” I whine.

And if I am not better than them, I am worse. One or the other. The wheel of fortune: to be at the top, there must be poor suckers at the bottom. Pray it isn’t your turn next. All or nothing.

What’s the point of having stuff if everyone’s got it? You have objects so other people can’t- that’s my game. I would hate communism, unless I could work the system and become a dictator.