Ah! Christmas! A time when everyone gets together, gets the merry on, drinks, sings around the pianner and eats themselves into comas. It’s actually quite fantastic. This year has seen me laughing more than any Yule that came before it. The weight gained by mince pies has been lost by tittering and shivering.

However, not helping me at all has been the TV. Of course, there have been great Christmas moments. Last night’s Extras Christmas Special was great value. James May moaning about his sisters and their toys provided some ace fun… but to saturation point, there has been musical after musical and feature length animation after animation… and guess who doesn’t really like ‘em?

Each day, I’ve woken with a smile, looking forward to playing board games (something I’ve never done before… so forgive me for really enjoying that aspect of Christmas), drinking wine and beer and gazing admiringly at some rather nice new things I now own. However, it seems that I have to earn my joy with huge dollops of inoffensive TV pap. My girlfriend, a reasonable and sensible type who can watch things that she doesn’t really like, but not have her day ruined by it, as half watched just about every musical and feature length animation ever made. She can gleefully say “Oh, this is a bit terrible!” then go back to reading the newspaper. Me however, who hasn’t had to put up with singing mice, dancing midgets and the like, is prone to collapsing in a heap worrying about the state of… er… something or other.

Seeing An American Tail made me actually wretch. That twinkling dream reached against all odds, soundtracked by squeaky voices that burst into song when things are bad… and good.. left me internally weeping. I’m afraid that I just can’t understand how you can enjoy watching someone sing who is in trouble. I mean, if you stood outside the pub and someone was about to punch your lights out, bursting into camp song, a sashay, eyes longingly looking toward the horizon… I think we all know what comes next (clue: It involves you being teeth down).

Worse still was Shrek. Shrek is probably the most pointless thing I’ve ever seen. The animation is so desperate to be realistic that it begs the question; Why not get actors in make-up in? Yes, very impressive… the hair looks real. Yes yes yes, the water is really really liquidy… but honestly, I’m sat in a room full of people with hair and drinks. Animators need to open their minds maaaan… if you’re going to spend that much time creating something, then dazzle me with images that couldn’t possibly be made by a bloke with a camera and some actors. I’m talking about psychedelic visions of the sky splitting like a sheet, showing erupting planets and hanging in the universe like sighs, before plummeting to Earth, creating gravitational mayhem, sending the vermilion coloured inhabitants spiraling off into space. Not a talking donkey and a green Wayne Rooney.

Of course, I’m, being a huge grump… but every Christmas needs a grump. In fact, those of you who like watching musicals and feature length children movies should know that better than anyone else. If your life is a Christmas film, then I’m the one who lightens up at the end who, somehow, through a belief in all things good, helps the main protagonist to defeat the forces of evil or something. That said, you’ll have to wait for the sequel for that… this year, I’m still darting evil ones toward the screen when someone needlessly breaks into song…