Set of Christmas photos also taken without sister's boyfriend

FOR every family Christmas photo taken with a woman’s current boyfriend a near-identical one is being taken without him, it has emerged. 

Roy and Susan Hobbs are creatively inventing reasons why, among all the charming group snapshots in matching Christmas jumpers, there always needs to be another where Laura’s boyfriend Oliver O’Connor is absent.

Susan said: “I’m not saying it won’t last. He’s a nice lad, as accountants who review imported cheese on Instagram go.

“But we learned our lesson from when Tamzin got married and all the photos have a Goth named Toby in them. Laura dumped him two months later but our group shots look like they were taken by a spiritual medium.

“Likewise those photos of our family trip to the Lake District which include a gawky twat named Brian. He can’t be digitally removed, I’ve tried, and using AI to put the latest one’s face on was truly grotesque. Though so was Brian.

“So this year we’re carefully distracting Oliver, sending him out for festive trips to the shops alone, and flattering his photography skills so he’s the one taking them. It’s either that or demand he propose marriage. And I don’t think anybody wants that.”

Oliver O’Connor said: “I need a few pics of me looking deep and thoughtful alone by the bay window and Christmas tree. They’ll look so hot on next year’s Tinder profile.”

"I'm at work, you f**kers"

HAVING a good time? Sat on your sofas, stuffing your faces, watching Saturday Kitchen? Christ I hate you. I’m at work. 

Maybe you saw me? Maybe whichever one of your household drew the short straw and had to nip out to get milk, oh and we’ve run out of biscuits, and may as well get the beers in for New Year? Perhaps, while they bewailed their misfortune, I passed before their eyes.

I f**king saw you, of course. Wandering blinking through our aisles at midday, eyes still bleary with sleep, not long out of your onesies. Eager to get home before 2pm so you can have a little drinkie-poo.

Oh, we all see you. The resentful staff rehanging all the dresses you pulled out while saying ‘call this a sale?’ The garage worker who wasn’t important enough to pause a phone call for while you paid for your MOT? The delivery driver you beeped at for your momentary delay?

F**king Christmas. All you office twats, or even worse the work-from-home wankers, winding down for half the month then having a fortnight off. Even if you go in you’re only ‘manning the phones’, which means wandering the office grazing on abandoned Roses.

Meanwhile I work through the whole pre-Christmas frenzy, get a whole two days off which you bitterly resent for the inconvenience it causes you, then I’m back here on the 27th smiling while you bring back a toaster because it’s the wrong colour.

I f**king hate you. That’s the spirit of Christmas for anyone who’s ever served you while wearing an elf hat. And so does everyone behind the bar at New Year.