It’s christmas. Woopdeedoo and loop de loop and all that. Yes, that’s right, since you all asked so fucking nicely, we didn’t bother to do a video this week as it’s the festive season and is therefore all about building up your hopes in order to dash them.

In fact, we’re so set on driving you all to distraction that we’re going to have Christmas specials every week now because that’s exactly what christmas is all about. Incessant disappointment until you eat so much chocolate and drink so much cheap sherry that you may as well check into Dignitas on Boxing Day.

Still, euthanasia aside, it’s always best to start the Christmas period as early as possible because that’s where you make the most money and since all of you dribbling gits out there in internet land believe that the Christmas period can only officially begin when the Coca Cola advert has tugged its way around your heartstrings, we decided to start as soon as they do.

Really early.

Christmas adverts take a few very set, very distinct and very dull paths. They either play to your sentimental side like Coca Cola or John Lewis, they play it for laughs like DFS (no, they really are) or they traipse out some washed-up celebrities in order to point at them and shout, “LOOK! THESE CELEBRITIES ENJOY CHRISTMAS AND THAT MEANS IT’S OKAY FOR YOU TO HAVE A NICE TIME AS WELL!”

That is unless you’re a child, in which case the advertising is still shouting at you but it’s more likely to be saying, “YOU WILL FORCE YOUR USELESS PEON PARENTS TO BANKRUPT THEMSELVES BUYING THIS TOY THAT YOU WILL PLAY WITH A MAXIMUM OF FIVE TIMES BEFORE IT BREAKS AND IS FORGOTTEN ABOUT IN A BOX! THERE IS NO SANTA CLAUS! BUY OUR PRODUCTS!” It’s a tough lesson but it’s one that children should learn from an early age.

Some adverts actually go out of their way to combine all these elements into 30 second mini-dramas with a narrative and a heart and real, genuine drama. Step forward, Very.co.uk.

Drama. It opens with a Sergio Leone/Ennio Morricone duel close-up. The forlorn strings of a guitar warble out in the distance. The slightly odd sight of two television presenters going up against the Il Duce of Christmas himself is completely offset by the sudden sense of tension…

…oh, what’s that hyper-irritating version of ‘Anything You Can Do…’ doing there?

In an effort to explain the sudden appearance of this jaunty brainworm, spokesmorons and celebrity bum-chums Holly & Fearne are quickly shown beating Santa at his own game of counter-intuitive housebreaking. Where Santa seems to fail is that he can’t just wander through someone’s front door at 8 in the evening.

Why?

He’s not bloody famous, that’s why.

Besides Fearne thinking she can ‘bring back’ a hairstyle that looks like a ploughed field, they’re showing him up by interacting with a family. It’s cosy, it’s sentimental. That’s where TV presenters and Santa Claus differ you see, Santa Claus isn’t a self-praising narcissist. If they really wanted to do Santa’s job better than him then they could do worse than to disappear from existence in a puff of smoke, becoming a lie that parents tell their kids so that they don’t grow up to be self-involved twat baskets.

Look at that family mocking santa claus. “He’s not even real!” they mockingly cry as the poor old bastard tries to stuff a wooden train under their smart-price christmas tree. Holly and Fearne look on with derision. Humour. Sick, sick humour. How can he ever hope to gain the thanks of millions of children all over the world with his paltry offerings of wooden toys, handmade with love and affection by tiny little people than Ricky Gervais thinks are hilarious? None of these things are a Nintendo 3DS (CHILDREN! YOU WANT A 3DS!)

Dirty tactics! That’s what it is. Holding back the poor, decrepit old man who just wants to finish his annual paper route without being held back by two tarts with a glorified catalogue. Sure they might have more presents than ol’ Sanity Clause himself but do they have the magical powers to skoot round the earth delivering presents like they’ve just inhaled a kilo of amphetamines and broken the face of Bernard’s watch?

Of course they don’t. They’re bloody TV presenters! TV presenters can just smile and read from an autocue. They can’t even drive that van. They had to get the cameraman to move slightly to the left because Fearne Cotton just sat staring at the pedals like a brain-damaged horse. There’s no magic there.

So what’s the outcome? Have the spokesmorons actually managed to upset the balance of Christmas forever? Will the festive season ever be the same again? Does their defeat of Santa mean that Fearne Cotton & Holly Willoughby will become an ethereal, fictional presence that children make macaroni images of in primary schools?

FIND OUT IN PART TWO!

Everything about Alan Carr is ridiculous. The high-pitched, squealing voice, the mincing walk, the thick black glasses and enormous teeth.

So it’s no surprise that his new Channel 4 talk show has a silly name too. Alan Carr: Chatty Man.

Who says “chatty” in real life? I imagine only mothers in the playground, whinging about someone being too chatty. Or not chatty enough. Or bullying them into an eating disorder. I don’t know. Alan Carr: Chat Man sounds a bit too much like a rubbish superhero. At least they didn’t go for a pun on his name and a cheeky Carry On-style innuendo about a gear-stick.

The first striking thing, aside from Alan’s face, is that the set is enormous. Made up to look like a 1970s house – key theme: brown – room after room is placed side-by-side, helpful for those with ultra-widescreen TVs, less helpful for the audience, squinting into the distance for half the show.

The opening monologue, shamelessly stolen from Every Chat Show Ever shows just how difficult it is to be relevant and funny on short notice. He brings up Cristiano Ronaldo despite not having a joke to make.

Things pick up once the guests come out, Bruce Forsyth, looking more and more like a cross between Mother Theresa and a walnut, arses about like someone half his age and banters well with Alan. Ross Kemp does the same, singing the Fruit and Fibre advert (which he appeared in before he was famous, as you’ve no doubt seen on 3,000 editions of Before They Were Famous) live, as you can see below if the video is on YouTube. All annoyingly good fun.

When Heather Graham comes on, she claims to be jetlagged and definitely hasn’t had a drink or seven. It must be weird to interview someone when you’ve seen them naked in a film. Weird in a good way, although Alan probably doesn’t hold an opinion either way about her minge. He doesn’t really carry this interview off as well as the other two: he’s better with guests who are more up for a laugh and titting about. She’s only here to promote her new movie, and it shows.

Overall, it’s a show of varying quality, completely dependent on who the guest is and how much they’re willing to put up with Alan’s squawky voice and camp banter. His enthusiasm is oddly endearing and if you skip through the rubbish guests (which there’ll probably be loads of) then the rest of the series will be worth a watch. C’mon, it’s on a Sunday night – what else are you going to watch, The South Bank Show?

This was a guest-blog by Nik Johnson out of that Shouting At Cows.

You! Follow hecklerspray on Twitter!