Christmas Time, Misery and Whine

Christmas is here and it's time for Robbo to dig out his white fluffy beard and become all grandfatherly, but not in the manner of someone who presented children's television programmes on the BBC in the 1980s.

Yuletide is a crap time of year I reckon. I spent today in a Sainsburys the size of Marbella pushing past bedazzled fuckwits as they paused over exotic butternut squashes as if they were in some sort of summer fete guess-the-vegetable contest. Husbands were shrugging at relentless wives as they burrowed through squadrons of unfettered brats all throwing unwanted confectionary into their parents' trolley and then booing their little bastard eyes out if so much of a grain of sugar found its way back onto the shelves.

I seriously heard one man say to his missus: "I honestly don't care just please don't make let me be in here any longer."

But now tis over. The requisite booze has been acquired. The brandy butter sits oozily in the fridge. And I am full of Christmas cheer.

So, ignoring the gift of Man City having someone called Jesus scoring at Christmas time (it wasn't that long ago it was Roque Santa Claus) here's some apt pressies for the folks we love to hate.

To Luis Suarez - well I would give him the freedom of Norwich but clearly he's already got that, so I'll give him a 5000 piece jigsaw. It might just be the only thing he can't finish this season.

To David Moyes - a little torch so he can see something while he's there in Fergie's shadow.

To Malky Mackay - he needs to expunge the name Tan from his mind for a few days so I've bought him a box of gerines, a book on tric sex and a fish k.

To Daniel Levy - a new manager who can help Spurs make that step up into the top four permanently. Given his track record, Jesus Christ might be the best bet, but failing that, Glenn Hoddle as he's closer to Jesus than many. Except it turns out it's Tim Sherwood - who should surely be the gaffer at Nottingham Forest.

To Graeme Swann - the film Titanic, featuring that memorable line 'women and children and hacked-off off-spinners first!'

To The Rest Of the England cricket team - a pair of very interesting shoes each cos that's what they'll be looking at for the next three months.

To Sebastian Vettel - a grab bag of Quavers so he has summat to eat while he's strolling to victory in them grand prix.

To Ashley Young - I think I must have given him snorkel and flippers last year so maybe he can give 'em to young Janazaj now he doesn't get much chance to use 'em anymore.

To Mark Lawrenson - a P-45 and my best wishes for a long and happy retirement, although to be fair he's been enjoying that on various television sofas for years.

To Jack Wilshere - a copy of the Mona Lisa. The eyes follow you around the room, much like television cameras you great twot.

To Arsene Wenger - one of them super-powerful wrenches you get at Kwikfit so he can stop the wheels coming off over Christmas.

To Rangers - some opposition would be nice.

To Celtic - some opposition would be nice.

To John McCririck - a small cottage in a deep dark wood somewhere in Olde England where he can chunter away to himself like the idiot bumpkin he is.

To Andy Murray - a musical stave that shows just how many notes are available to the human voice. And another grand slam, naturally.

To Heather Mills - a diving board so she can go off the deep end whenever she fancies it. Still it's good to see her putting her foot down even if it is one that the IPC don't approve of.

To Essex nightclub doormen - a chamber-pot hat, just in case Monty Panesar fancies a night out round their way.

To Roy Hodgson - all the luck in the world, mate. And 26 changes of shirt for the game in Manaus.

To Peter Crouch - a pair of boxing gloves so that the lad can keep punching above his weight with that Abbey Clancy. That lass doesn't so much dance as flow, bless 'er. Mind you, Sophie Ellis-Bextor's bloke - the one that looked like a surprised woodland piglet - is so far out of her league he's Chorley to her Chelsea.

To Tiger Woods - slalom lessons from his girlfriend Michelle Vonn. That way he might be able to avoid garbage bins when he comes out of his driveway.

To Oscar Pistorius - an amazing pair of briefs, he's going to need them.

To The Welsh Rugby Union - shares in French holiday homes, as that's where all your countrymen will be for the foreseeable future.

To Jamaican Athletics - a drugs mule to carry all the prohibited substances OUT of the country. I know you're quick boys and girls but that doesn't mean you can run forever. Allegedly.

To the organisers in Sochi - a great big slobbery same-sex kiss to each and every one of you, and a set of floodlights to bring you out from the Dark Ages.

To Marion Bartoli - a book on personal beauty by that picture of asymmetric beauty John 'Call Me Casanova' Inverdale. All right ladies, calm down. I know how much you hate us lads having a pop at John. He just oozes sex appeal, that man, like a chip oozes oil.

And to Kevin Pietersen - a forward defensive prod. Very useful when you're 400 behind. A wonderful batsman and an absolute twerp.

MERRY CHRISTMAS ONE AND ALL!!!

And up the Boro!!!