In the Spirit of Christmas... a hatred of

I have long loathed the Guardian's Saturday Guide. Reading anything useful in it is like trying to fish out a potentially interesting business card from a greasy spoon's bin liner.

It's the writing of course. It tries so hard to be cool it's actually covered in the sweat of the effort. Here, at random, are a few scraps:

It also impels one to steer clear of any parties Kerry Katona might be holding. But then, that's just common sense... If you were waiting for confirmation that Gavin & Stacey was 2008's biggest show... One nugget of yuletide joy in EastEnders is that the local paedophile has been captured... Even a child could make a watchable documentary about [Hunter S.] Thompson though that's probably not a good idea... The sky is falling, my friends. Winter is closing in, global recession is upon us, and if anyone was in doubt that western civilisation is doomed, Jive Bunny is making a comeback... Merry Christmas! Arsenic-laced minced pie anyone?...

I can't go on. The effort chiefly goes into dropping names in a mood of ironic disdain while trying to write post- post- post-Tom Wolfe style prose. Irony has much to answer for. But irony has many saving graces.

What I see is a bunch of grotesque thirty year olds winking at each other desperately pretending to be fifteen. Come to think of it, that is the malaise of our times: permanent adolescence. The dread of not being a teenager.

Merry Christmas to them all. Free arsenic all round.