Aaaaaaah Christmas! Yesterday was the usual hell of struggling through crowds of shoplifters, single mothers and chavs to find that elusive present for 'er indoors. I visited ABSOLUTELY FUCKING EVERYWHERE looking for a particular item on my list - eventually admitting defeat and ending up in that cold, soulless nightmare that is Meadowhall (or Meadowhell as the yokels seem to call it ... see what they've done there?). These temples to feminine greed are devil-spawned filth palaces where money is worshipped above all things, and where consumerism is seen as a virtue, not a vice. That said, they did have the thing I was looking for, so it's not all doom and gloom.
And this morning I recieved my traditional Christmas package from Scott Rowley (the Ghenghis Khan of journalism, proving the pen is mightier than the sword by slamming it into your temples). Every year Scott clears his desk of all the rubbish he knows none of his other contributers would want, stuffs it all in an envelope, and sends it (second class) to my house. I then look through this pile of CDs whilst thinking, "Never heard of them ... never heard of them ... never heard of them ... oooh Donovan" etc etc. It wouldn't be Christmas without this little ritual, it really wouldn't.
A final thought ... Meadowhall's slogan is 'The Land of Shopportunity'. What the fuck has happened to this world?
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