Dear Mr Lewis,
I have never frequented one of your retail establishments. I’m sure you do nice stuff. However, I’m not what you would call a ‘normal’ dresser, so I have no need for things like jumpers. I hear you sell things like furniture and I think that’s really swell. People always need chairs.
However, this is not the subject of my letter. No, I am writing to you because of this man:
This man was born in around 4BC (talk about a slight oversight in the calendar department). His birthday, despite nobody knowing when it actually was, has become an annual celebration called ‘Christmas’. Maybe you’ve heard of it. It takes place on December 25th.
That’s right. December 25th. Christmas Day. Not November. Christmas DAY.
I know I should be writing a stern letter to Mr Cola, as I realise you were not the first to capitalise on the commercial appeal of the most magic time of the year. But do you know why I’m writing to you? Not only do I love Christmas, but I happen to love music too.
I take it you’re not a fan of music. If you were, why on Earth would you make it a habit of over-extending the Christmas period and destroying good music in the process in your advertising?
Last year you basically raped Morrissey. Nobody knows if Morrissey would have actually enjoyed the shafting you gave him or not, maybe you told him you’d stop world sausages and he went along with it; I didn’t enjoy being exposed to it. This year you are going to be cornering Holly Johnson of Frankie Goes to Hollywood fame in an alley and showing him a different Power of Love.
I’m here to beg you to stop this. Stop it now. I cry every time Christmas spills out of December, for too much Christmas ruins the magic. But then when I’m forced to hear you and your overwrought covers of classic songs sung by some waifer-thinly voiced folk singer that are designed to make housewives and general saddos cry and then go out and buy three more tins of Roses; it makes me feel physically sick. And the only time I should feel sick at Christmas is when I’ve devoured an entire pyramid of Ferrero Rochers.
By all means advertise. By all means advertise for Christmas. In December. But for the love of God please don’t subject us to songs that are only there to serve as a reminder that we live in a world where consumerism ruins everything and good music is hard to find. It’s a sad enough place that we live in. My Mum won’t even buy me a fur coat for Christmas. Actually, do you do fur coats?
Dan Whitell (not a 16-year old female singer doing a shit Dan Whitell cover)
I am writing this letter to congratulate you on your ingenuity. Nobody has made more money from stupid people than you. As the perennial misanthrope I salute this act. However, I do have one query.
Can you give us a bit of a break? Go on a holiday or something. For an extended period of time. It’s all well and good that you are making people part with their cash to buy ridiculous things like Cher Lloyd’s singles but you have accidentally created a culture of morons. Everywhere I go everyone looks like they are auditioning to be in One Direction; wearing checkered shirts and chinos. It actually makes me feel a little bit sick.
Do we really need X Factor every year? I know that the masses will probably forget what to do if you don’t spoon-feed them instructions, but is that really a bad thing? Or maybe as a man who seems driven to be omnipresent the solution could be to use your power for good. As a reality TV pioneer, maybe you could do ‘Nonentities from Shows Past Get Fed to the Lions’. I’d consider staying in for that. As soon as some gargantuan feline starts chewing on Jedward I’d even be inclined to text ‘COCOZZA’ to 83322.
Oh and one more thing. Can we quit making a mockery of the Christmas number one? Your offering is never very good, and it also forces hipster idiots to promote old songs that have nothing to do with Christmas to the top spot. I know that the soldiers’ wives choir did it this year, but that was pretty awful too. People will do anything if this national sentiment involved. Anyway I digress. Just leave it alone, or we might fall out.
Keep up the good work, just try and keep it on the lo-down please. I’m tired of having to tell idiots that their opinions are invalid.
Daniel J. Whitell
PS – if you could hook me up with Cheryl I’d be willing to live with another series of X Factor. Just one, though.