As we approach the festive season, we also approach the impending pile of unwanted gifts you’ll find piled at the back of some obscure wardrobe. I reckon I can guess exactly what is going to be in your stocking come Christmas morning, and I’m willing to put my house on it.*
*Disclaimer: I currently live in rented accommodation. This was a figure of speech, and I actually do not own a property at this present time.
This is the staple of any Christmas stocking. An integral part of a good Boots 3 for 2 gift offer. My personal gripe with these is that they tend not to include antiperspirant. The whole purpose I am applying deodorant, is to stop me sweating. Not to mask the stench of sweat with a unique fragrance labelled “Africa”.
The silent, saving grace of Christmas. Their inclusion in any form of gift pack is always snorted at. They provoke faces of pure disappointment. Yet they soldier on. They serve me in my time of need. As a single male living alone, as we approach the end of a calendar year, my socks seemingly dessert me. It is then the Christmas socks, like a silent protector, surface to ensure I am not without covered comfy feet. So, although frequently mocked, the sock is my brother in arms.
Cadbury’s Selection Box
In every Christmas stocking since the birth of Jesus himself. Crunchie, Curly Wurly, Freddo, Dairy Milk, Dairy Milk Caramel. Can’t complain.
More for the females, but you’ve had some kind of bath bomb collection gifted to you since you gave up on the Barbies. A multi colored liquid firework display, shaped as a soapy rock. Suppose it beats the Lynx.
I finish on the After 8. The one gift I will never show any disrespect towards. A solid, British classic, that will forever be sewn into the fabric of our culture. A minty, chocolaty orgasm wrapped in a pathetically constructed sleeve.