Here in the UK, supermarkets are already stocking Christmas treats and festively packaged produce. I now can’t walk through a department store without having to hunt for TechnoScouse as she looks at big metal figurines of snowmen to match the wobbling Father Christmas we bought last year. My work’s Christmas party has been booked (and I have to start plotting novel ways of getting the hell out of it)

And (like the fourth horseman of the apocolypse): Celebrity calendars are available.

Having just been to Borders and seen a number of truly astounding sights, I think that it’s best to make a regular feature (or as regular as anything on this site can ever be) to celebrate and indeed advertise some of the fine items for sale. As ever, if you have any suggestions that you would like to share with the ever-growing legion of international readers of this humble blog, feel free to comment at the end.

So it is my great pleasure to unveil (that word has just made me feel quite ill, as I know what’s to follow) the first of hopefully many in this recurring feature.

MR CLIFF RICHARD, 2010

Mumm-Ra the Everliving has been on the tanning beds

Feast your eyes! Have you ever seen such a fine specimen of 69 year old manhood? No, of course not.  At least not until you give in to temptation, and look at the reverse for a sneak peak of what the next 12 months have in store:

New! Pensioner Action Man! (Replacement hips sold seperately)

I particularly like Karate Cliff.

Now perhaps I’m risking my life here. Fans of “The Cliff” (as I’ve decided to call him) are clearly insane, disturbed, and have access to assorted medications that could be combined to make lethal cocktails of doom. However, as they are also limited to travelling by shopmobility scooter, I am pretty sure I can withstand any biddy-ninja seiges upon my Fortress of Solitude.

What did surprise me though was the absolutely piss-poor grammar in the first (and to date only) review of this on Amazon:

“As usual Cliff’s calendar is great just like the man himself. Alway’s good photo’s and very professional.” C.A. Smith, New Zealand

Learn to use the apostrophe, Mr (or possibly Mrs) Smith. Only then will anyone value your opinion. Well… when you also don’t recommend crap like this.

Still, one good thing has come out of this. My appetite’s gone right out of the window! Anorexia, here we come!

By the way. The above images are copyright of somebody. I have no real idea who to blame… I mean credit for these images. Good work team, you should be proud.

Next time on CalendarWatch: Something for the ladies!

I have always been one to question fashion, and to strive to have my own personal sense of style. That sounds poncy. What I mean is I know what I like, and I like what I know. For many years this was the safe “t-shirt and jeans” combo that is still a faithful standby as I rapidly approach my post-late-mid-20s (I’m 29 in about 2 weeks). However I have also dabbled in somewhat chappish attire of waistcoats (never with jeans, unless you want to have comparisons with Justin Timberlake stamped on your forehead in your own blood), brogue-style trainers, and good-old button on braces. By and large, I wear what I think suits me and not what strangers and magazine editors tell me to wear.

Anyway. This isn’t about me. This is about other people as seen through my embittered and sardonic eyes. I just thought it was worth confessing my own sartorial sins before pointing the finger at someone else.

And today’s someone else is anyone wearing anything by Ed Hardy.

I have no idea if this designer’s works are internationally known, or perhaps the cancer has not yet spread beyond the British shores. If not, then hopefully this will be a warning beacon, informing others on a global scale of such over-priced shite before they suffer from sequin-induced blindness.

Ed Hardy apparel follows 2 simple rules:

Bright Colours Make Up For Crap Drawing Skills

Now I am no artist. I would describe myself as autistic before artistic. A sure-fire way to lift TechnoScouse’s spirits and probably reduce her to a dribbling heap of chuckles is for me to put pen to paper and try to draw even the most simple of pictures. I accept this lack of talent, and instead use words to paint a mental picture (rather than using a pen to paint a picture that just looks mental).

The designers at Ed Hardy, on the other hand, seem to have been recruited from the local happy-bus of colour-blind freaks as part of some form of art therapy workshop. Never have I known people to pay good money (see below) for pictures that look like they have been drawn by the backwards kid in a class of 7 year olds, who has no idea what the picture is meant to be of.

For example, let us look at the skull. If we are to believe the geniuses at Ed Hardy, then the human skull is so distorted and misshapen that John Merrick would take the piss.

Alternatively let us look at the majestic tiger (here looking more like a ginger cat from the depths of a nuclear reactor, and spanked round the face with a spade). I personally would rather walk round with Napoleon Dynamite’s Liger on my t-shirt than one of these technicolour abominations!

The brand tries to defend the lack of artistic talent by following the trend of retro tattoo design, such as pin-up girls and the like. The difference is though that if you had a picture this bad permanently etched into your skin, observers would assume that it had been drawn by your loving cellmate during a long incarceration in prison. Would you want to look like you were the bitch of a guy that can’t draw a for shit? No, I didn’t think so, so don’t wear a pair of jeans that look even worse.

Glitter is Good

As I saunter through the walkways of shopping centres, I am now intermittently dazzled by a spectrum of colours that makes me think that I’ve either taken LSD by mistake, or I’m being pissed on by a My Little Pony. These virtual laser-light shows are because of Ed Hardy t-shirts that are covered in more sequins than Liberace’s codpiece! While certain animals such as tropical fish have developed shiny skins to reflect light and dazzle potential predators, I don’t think that the Neon Tetra is a role model if you want to avoid getting punched in the chops for looking like a pillock.

Remember- the only people who don’t get beaten up for wearing sequins are 1980s WWF wrestlers. Before parting with your money, just ask yourself “Am I Macho Man Randy Savage?” If not, then slowly put the t-shirt back where you found it, and run away before the shop assistant spots you.

My final complaint, and this is often true of fashion, is that this crap is so painfully overpriced. For some reason, wearing a holographic t-shirt of a gay weasel with a birth defect becomes socially acceptable if you’ve paid £120 for the pleasure. If these things were going for £15 at Asda, then people would wisely stay away for fear of looking likesome rancid bastard’s wiped their nose all over your pants.