The Christmas Market (or – why we hate people)

The mister and I went to a gig in Birmingham last night; beforehand we had a bit of time to kill so we had a look round the Christmas Market. This was our first mistake. Our second mistake was having been born at all.

We’d planned to get a hot drink and have a look at the various macaroons and knitted shite on offer, before going back to the gig. ‘That will be nice,’ we thought. ‘That will be festive’.

I should point out that probably only I was thinking that. The mister, being the mister, was probably thinking about calibrating the TV.

We headed to the market. This was the scene that greeted us.


Instead of a general whinge, I’m going to talk about the specific people who made us wish that Mary hadn’t been offered that stable, and was still walking round with Jesus stuffed up her, so no one would have to do Christmas things.

1. The woman at the chocolate stall

There was a hut with a chocolate fountain, selling, well, chocolate, but also marshmallows, strawberries, and hot drinks. Apart from the hot drinks, the choice was limited. And since the choice of drinks was hot chocolate or coffee, the hot drinks choice was also limited.

Do bear in mind that the life form in front of us had several people in front of her in the queue, so she had ample time to decide on her order. She had more time than she needed given it was a choice between about four things. However, this woman had better things to do that actually look at what she was queuing for; instead she decided to use the queue time to go on her phone, no doubt tweeting something hilarious like “I’m queueing LOL”.

She also passed the time by dropping one of her coins, which she spent the next three years looking for before realising she hadn’t actually dropped anything. I can understand her novice money handling skills, what with her only visiting Earth for a holiday.

She finally got to the front of the queue, and spent the next month going “Can I get…” with no follow up. She had about four things to choose from. Look you dithering bastard, just choose a thing. How she manages to get dressed and leave the house on a morning is beyond me. I hope she’s only got one outfit.


The fact that it never once occurred to her that she was holding people up, and that she should maybe acknowledge this fact, confirmed our belief that she was probably a robot with a tape recorder inside her. Like Teddy Ruxpin, but a bitch. I don’t know what she got in the end. Hopefully food poisoning.

After she got served, did she leave? No, that would have been sensible. Instead, she stood in front of the stall taking selfies with whatever it was she’d bought.

What we should have done: kicked her up the arse then confiscated her phone as compensation.

What we did: tutted a bit.

2. The lost people

Imagine you’re not familiar with Birmingham. Now imagine you’re tying to get to one of the biggest and most well known of its streets. Now imagine you have both a map in your hand, and GPS on your phone. What do?

This was the conundrum that presented itself to our tourist guests.

The obvious answer is to go position yourself next to the one person who’s made an effort to stand away from people, as she is A) smoking and B) not a dickhead.

This is how I found myself with two strangers stood so close to me that we ended up wearing one set of clothes between us. Then they proceeded to open up their map in front of my face. That was nice of them, I’d just fancied looking at a map from an inch away.

At this point, I should have set fire to their map with my cigarette. They might not have noticed, and just assumed that there was a portal to Hell in Birmingham. Obviously I did not do this as I am a coward. Instead I moved away. I didn’t realise they needed my atoms to survive though, which is why they instantly gravitated next to me again.

map of bermingam

This was almost as annoying as people who favourite tweets.

The best bit of this, however, is that they were ALREADY ON THE STREET THEY WERE LOOKING FOR. It was full of signs, and the only reason they’d failed to notice this was because they were too busy looking at their map and trying to actually stand inside me.

What we should have done: covered up all the street signs and directed them to Manchester

What we did: tutted.

3. ‘Hashtag ice skating LOL’

Next to the Christmas Market there’s an ice rink. That’s nice isn’t it. People can go ice skating on it, and make valiant attempts at ‘triple axels’ or whatever they’re called.

This isn’t exciting enough for some people, not when there’s tweeting and Candy Crush to be done as well.

Here is an exact replica of one skater’s activities (artistic licence notwithstanding) –

ice skating

I can only assume that she was so bad at ice skating that she had to read instructions on how to ice skate while she was doing it. She’ll be in trouble when she gets to the bit about ‘don’t do anything else while skating. Especially don’t try to use your phone, or you’ll DIE’.

More likely she knew that her wobbly, Bambi style tomfuckery was so fascinating to the rest of the world that they wouldn’t be able to wait to know she was skating. So she did the selfless thing and risked other people’s lives and limbs to twat to her followers that she was ice skating. This is the type of girl who takes photos of everything she does, such as getting a smear test, changing her tampon, and existing. Best avoided.

What we should have done: Grabbed one of the equally annoying spectators and had an impromptu game of curling in her direction.

What we did: tutted. But we tutted quite loudly.


The moral of this post is the following – if you are people, stay the hell away from us.

One thought on “The Christmas Market (or – why we hate people)

  1. The Birmingham Christmas Market is literally hell on Earth, never ever go there unless forced to on pain of having your immortal soul ripped from your nose.


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