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Six ways to look like a twat in… a Christmas jumper

CHRISTMAS jumpers are the height of anti-fashion, but have you wrung every twattish drop from yours or is a rival the bellend of the Yuletide ball? 

Wear it to the office

Bring the enforced fun to your workforce with a Christmas jumper over your suit and tie. Everyone will be wincing while they work as you wank about the place threating written warnings with a grinning snowman across your chest. Extra points if your anti-style statement has the Grinch on!

Glitter like the moonlight snow

Sequins? Big fuzzy reindeer noses? Baubles in the nipple area? Actual lights? Anything that would spark ridicule in normal clothing? Perfect for the season. These adornments barely last one outing, fuck the environment hard, are made in conditions of slavery and leave a trail of tacky debris in your wake for a minimum-wager to clean up. So very Christmas.

Incorporate pop culture

There’s no need to abandon buttonholing others about your fixations just because it’s Christmas! A snowflake border around Darth Vader’s portrait, flanked by screaming TIE fighters, allows you to be as aggravatingly dull as any other time of year! Let’s force your likes through the corporate Christmas meat-grinder and call it fun!

Make it your personality

Nothing to say? Of no interest to anyone? No-one really sure if you were there? Turn that around by making Christmas your thing, and looping every chat back to your loopy fashion choice. ‘It’s me! With the tune-playing jumper!’ you’ll remind everyone for the next 11 months.

Pair it with a hat

The jumper alone makes it blaringly obvious you’ve got festive fever, so why not overdo it? Add a Santa hat, foam antlers and make them light up for the double denim of the season. Simply screams ‘I don’t understand a fucking thing about this world! I will die alone!’

Make it part of your regular wardrobe

All Christmas jumpers lean into irony now, so what better meta-commentary on the risible excess of the festive period than wearing the bastard year-round? Imagine being regarded in summer with the same withering gaze as those gibbering pricks wearing shorts in winter! They’re looking at you! You’ve won!

We won two World Wars just to let them take over our city centres: the gammon food critic visits a German Christmas market

Restaurant reviews by Justin Tanner, our retired food critic who reckons Thatcher would have sorted out these striking nurses in a heartbeat.

CHURCHILL would be turning in his grave. We sent the Krauts packing and for what? To let them take over our city centres like Operation Overlord never happened?

But ‘tis the season for goodwill and all that, and they’ve said they’re sorry for the Third Reich so I’ll give it a cautious once-over as it’s only Birmingham. Baffles me as to why Britain’s second city feels the need to morph into fucking Dusseldorf every December but still.

Besides it’s the only bit of ‘festivity’ I’ll have to put up with this year. The ex-wife’s not one of those who invites me round and the son swerves me at Christmas because I’m a miserable sod. Fine with me, I hate buying presents.

First impressions? It’s heaving and I’m keeping one hand on my wallet. You have to be streetwise with this many non-indigenous about. Ideally put it down your pants next to your tackle. See them try to grab that.

I had a look around the stalls before trying the food, soak up the atmosphere. It’s a load of tat. Funny-flavoured fudge, wooden dolls we wouldn’t have gone near in the fucking 1950s, gaudy scarves and hats. If this is a German Christmas no wonder they were so keen to invade the rest of the world.

To drink there’s glühwein, a palatable Lidl red they’ve seen fit to throw fruit and a cinnamon stick in then heated until the alcohol evaporates. I’m glad the Yanks captured the Eagle’s Nest and drank Hitler’s personal vintages if this is how much respect they have for wine.

Food? Truly hideous hot dogs with frankfurters that look like camels’ cocks in mustard. Bratwurst which is gristly, chewy and only fit for dogs. How do they think they can improve on the British breakfast banger?

It doesn’t get better. Schnitzels – who takes a lovely steak, batters it flat and rolls it in breadcrumbs? Even McDonald’s aren’t that fucking stupid. The pretzels are the bastard offspring of a bag of crisps and burnt toast. They went in the bin.

But I’ll say this for Fritz, he can brew beer. So I washed down their unpalatable shit with six or seven flagons until I couldn’t taste it anymore, and next thing I know I’m chucking the lot up behind someone’s puppet stall.

The lad starts shouting at me in German, I cordially reply that I don’t speak his language because we won the fucking war, and I’m thrown out. A true born Englishman in my own country. Disgraceful.

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