LUV – It’s weird to think that Cliff Richard once recorded a homely, pseudo-religious pop song where he claimed that the true spirit of Christmas could be found in the combination of mistletoe and wine. Because, in actual fact, that’s a song about getting so shitfaced at your work’s Christmas party that you end up getting off with Stacey from HR even though you’re married and you’ll wake up hungover and so full of remorse that you’ll spend the rest of your life joylessly tick-tocking between physical reminders of your intrinsic failure as a human being at work and home until you die. It may as well be called Four Baileys And An Accidental Pregnancy.
However, if you’re not married, mistletoe can be just the impetus that a self-conscious singleton needs to make the first move on their secret crush. And that’s a beautiful thing. Forget the fact that this has never actually happened to anyone in the entire history of the world, and the only people who’ve ever kissed anyone under the mistletoe are either sweaty and lonely or your gran when you were a toddler. It’s still a beautiful thing. It is. Fuck you.
– Stuart Heritage
HAT – It is well known that Christmas is unbearably fucking romantic, because Richard Curtis says so. Nothing gives a proper Brit the horn more than being cold, wet and next to tinsel while stalking winsome Sloans to the sound of Mariah honking and hooting. And that is fine, as long as one’s romantic feelings are expressed in the correct way; meaningful looks during work parties, an “accidental” brush betwixt elbow and breast at a crowded bar, and rugged, animalistic sex in private. With private very much being the key word, and mistletoe very much being the cause of all that is foul and putrid in this sacred country.
Because who the shitting hell decided that whapping a bit of shrubbery on a string meant we were all free to tongue each other’s gums to shreds in front of other humans? Who decreed that the presence of a useless garnish above your head meant the loss of all decorum? Have you really thought about kissing? I mean really thought about it? “Hey, we’ve both got a moist fleshy hole in our faces. Let’s smash them against each other for kicks!” Why would you want to do that with witnesses? At best, all you are demonstrating is that an obligate hemi-parasitic plant (it means it sucks the life out of its host. Sound familiar, happily snogging couples? Boom! You’re stupid because you’re in love) has more of a grip on your genitals than you do. It’s the baby Jesus’s birthday. You’re making him sad. Stop it.
– Julia Blyth