10. GREG LAKE – I Believe In Father Christmas

For christ-sake (and if not for his sake, whose sake are you making Christmas records – except o’course for your bank managers) if you have not realised by the age of 34 that Father Christmas no more exists than any sort of credibility for people who nick classical tunes as the blood and guts of their records then much hope has gone Cully.

Lake (of Blankety Blank question : my Dad bought a piss poor Prog Rock record by Emerson ____ and Palmer) was on his own in still believing in this phsyically impossible present delivery system. He admittedly never said he believed in Rudolph, but then a consumately fit animal with a glow in the dark nose is pretty unlikey. Less unlikely then than a fat man fitting down chimneys maybe but…

“They said there’d be snow at Christmas”

No weatherman worth their salt (useful on icey roads) would ever predict snow at Christmas. Or a silent night on Dec 24. Frankly all Lake could do was nick a bit of Prokofiev and fuck off and laugh his red nose off. A silly nose it is too (you’ve seen Close Encounters – well the mountain was Lakes nose).

He is obvious too old to believe in FC or even SC or St Nick, but that never got in the way of an ageing rock star who fancies feeling up the younger ladies whilst using the Santa Hat Condom. He is leading yet another generation down the slippery slope that is believing in a non-existant and rather unlikely supernatural beasties. So lake, go drown yerself in yerself.