Wham - Last Christmas

When even The xx can’t do a decent cover of a song, you know it must be a truly shoddy offering. The best selling single to ever not make number one (thwarted by those selfish Band Aid bastards) the sentiment of this song is as weak as my nan’s gravy. Whereas George Michael’s hair in this is near religious levels of majestic (sort of like Aslan has mated with one of those models in the windows of Edgware Road barbers) the song isn’t really festive, and the word Christmas could easily be replaced by ‘Birthday’, ‘Wednesday’, or ‘Visit to the GUM clinic.’ You know who had real problems Wham? Starving Ethiopians. Not some bellend bemoaning the fact that some girl didn’t stick around after he gave her some jewellery from the bottom of a Claire’s Accessories party bag.

Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer

Perhaps Rudolph isn’t to blame for this one, as much as my scumbag brain that seemingly hasn’t developed since childhood. It all seems to start well, respectfully acknowledging the familiar tune, pretending to agree with the man who arrogantly assumes I know all the names of the reindeers (I don’t, obviously. I know the electric supply shop and the kebab, the rest all sound like generic strippers). But then someone sings about a red nose and before I know it I’m yelling ‘LIKE A LIGHTBULB’ at some charity carol singer like a woman possessed.

Elton John - Step into Christmas

This song makes me dance with joy as it is just so bloody catchy, but then makes me weep tears of impoverished rage. As someone who has angrily endured the onslaught of Christmas cheer ever since my first disappointing cranberry and turkey sandwich in October, the idea of stepping rather than being shoved face first into its festive pit is pretty damn laughable. By the time December comes around I’ve already gone past jolly, and am well on my way to people asking why I’m so miserable when I don’t piss myself with excitement every time I open my advent calendar to try and salvage a scrap of chocolate that tastes like mud-yoghurt. Realistically I’ve spent the last of my money on body butter for an uncle I’ve never even met and I’m being forced to mix leftover Turkey gravy granules with leftover brandy and calling it Christmas soup. Zero money and six weeks until I’m paid; the only thing bitterer than Christmas soup is Elton singing, ‘step into Christmas, the admission’s free.’

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Mariah Carey - All I Want For Christmas

Single this Christmas? As Mariah’s notes warble for longer than it now takes you to ask strangers for a cuddle, this soppy mushfest will remind you of the impending doom of your loneliness until you find yourself passed out behind the sofa making yourself a catacomb of Babycham bottles and Quality Street wrappers. It’s a song that’s not better if you’re in a couple, when it becomes just a pitiable reminder that you have spent the last couple of months scraping out the bowels of your overdraft in the game of one upmanship that is boyfriend-girlfriend gift giving. Nothing rings less true than Mariah ‘I’d gold plate my children if it were legal’ Carey claiming she doesn’t care about what’s underneath the tree. What you really want for Christmas, Mariah, is a shit ton of presents, just like everybody else.

Britney Spears - My Only Wish (This Year)

I am choosing this song as an unelected representative of an all too familiar genre that rears it head as soon as it becomes too cold to wear nude tights. Atrocious, unmemorable and largely indecipherable except for the odd Christmas keywords thrown in to let it tick the technical ‘please play me every year and make me very rich’ box. The inevitable product of record labels realising the possible royalties of a song being played ad nauseam for all eternity until all humans have eventually clawed their own eardrums out with sharpened candy canes. The only thing worse than these (other gems include Mandy Moore -Christmas, Ashanti - Christmas Time Again or Girls Aloud - Not Tonight Santa) is the recognition that if there’s a bit of snow in the video it might be able to get into the wildcard draw. Thanks to East 17 every time you turn on VIVA (which to be fair, is never) some weary pop band are taking their turn at amateur bukkake hour as they croon some meaningless lyrics that have largely been created by Ctrl-Hing ‘love’ with Christmas. Add to this the grotesque number of covers of Santa Baby, and I’m left thinking Herod was onto something.