I hate Christmas shopping.

Except when I've finished mine.

Actually, I quite like browsing through stress-packed department stores. Frazzled mothers with whinging children. Some shelves empty and others full of everything but what the price tag underneath says should be there. Finding the perfect gift amidst 34 bug-eyed Power Puff dolls.

But at the same time it fills me with fatigue. And the desire to crush the larynx of the puling child behind me. To glare at mothers whose bad mothering is brought on by hours of those emotions. To strangle the put-upon staff with the spooling tapes of dinky carols.

Yup, it's the season to be fucking jolly all right. So get to it. Now!