You didn’t expect to see this amongst the hoary old chestnuts roasting on an open hell-fire below. If you didn’t then you obviously still do not understand this site, and you are also possibly deaf. The man with a lifejacket for lips and the graverobbers of pop – together for the first time in Christmas excrement shocker.

The Et (a nickname based not so much on a shortening of the bands name – rather Bob Stanley’s resemblance to the film character) fancy themselves as post modern pop pioneers. Apparently they do this playing simplistic pop in an arch style which Kylie would not touch with a bargepole. The Charlatans, are charlatans and also know a good thing when they steal it. I’m surprised the pop police were not snuffling round when this aural aquivalent of getting a pair of socks for Christmas limped out.

Hey, it was the Christmas single indie fans were allowed to like. Indie fans being students and generally poor, managed to rocket the single to number 16. Sarah Cracknell was so glad she just got her pay, I assume it was not a bumper pay packet, especially after paying for Burgess’s colagen top ups.

Proof of this tracks true lack of worth though is its subject matter. For neither Cracknell, Wiggs, Stanley or Burgess were born on Christmas Day. Instead this song was ghosted by the true culprit, the true evil spirit of Chritmas. Noel Edmonds was born on Christmas Day – and this song is obviously about him.