Confidential’s increasingly irritable publisher gets very grouchy this time of year. Here’s why…

1. Because it’ll take 14 hours to drive home from work...

Gordo is old, so now and then Gordo needs to use his car to get to Confidential HQ in the city centre. Now, with the current traffic mess, it usually takes Gordo a good two hours to get anywhere, add to that traffic from the sodding Christmas Markets and Gordo will be lucky to get home before he has to set back off the following morning.

2. Because the beer tastes like piss without the personality and costs £5…

There's a great big Germanic brewery somewhere deep in a forest which makes beer for people in Azerbackistan who marvel at it like the English used to marvel at tins of Party 7. And now the English are drinking this shite in droves at the Manchester Christmas Markets. WTF? Apparently two million pints of this stuff are sold each year, for cash. That's £10 million. And where do you think this cash goes? Back to Germany every week in the lorry that carries the beer in.

3. Because the sausages are worse than the beer…

Twenty tonnes of prison grade sausages are manufactured in Bavaria, using all the bits the Germans won't eat. Frozen, they arrive in a great big fuck off truck which supplies the 369 stalls burning them to buggery and slopping them into bread rolls that get more stale as the weeks go on. The concrete used in the dough mix helps with the longevity, whilst tricking them trendy hipsters into thinking it's a new type of sourdough. And these fools pay £4.50 for them. 

Manchester Christmas Sausage
Bratwurst (all the bits the Germans won't eat) and mulled wine (produced in Novosibirsk, Siberia) ggeeoo

4. The mulled wine...

Each stall-holder carefully selects their favourite red wine, and vies to produce their own secret, crowd-winning blend of herbs and spices. Competition amongst traders is fierce to ensure that all visitors get the very best mulled wine in Europe...

Do they fuck.

They all buy those bottles of ‘mulled wine’ produced in Novosibirsk, Siberia to a recipe created by Stalin’s sidekick, Beria, to jump-start the sixteen million slaves they had mining coal every day. Strong stuff, now drunk in Manchester at Christmas by giggling gangs of fuckwits.

5. Because the paella contains 1.7 pieces of chicken...

Have you seen the state of that paella? It tastes like they've been using Cillit BANG for stock. Also, they appear to have found chickens suffering from anorexia with sixteen knuckles each. Though, if you’re lucky, you might get six or seven peas in the mix.

6. Because if I wanted someone sneezing on the back of my head as I was shuffled about I’d join a chain gang.

Christmas Markets Credit Mark Waughmw Nov13Bus 0091
Peekaboo... piss off

7. The scarves.

They’re about ten quid, which is £9.75 more than they cost. At least they’re dual purpose; wash ‘em and they turn into a tie.

8. The trinkets

Each and every stall-holder selling trinkets, proudly displaying their 'green', 'craft' or 'caring' credentials should be prosecuted for TAKING THE PISS. All these tricky fuckers do is wait for PoundLand to sift through the goods brought by the container load from Guangzhou, China. The stuff that even PoundLand is too ashamed to sell is sent to the Manchester Christmas Markets and sold to the Jeremy Kyle Show-loving peeps flooding into the city centre in droves. At least it’s one way of ensuring their dealers have a tough time over the holidays.

Christmas Markets Credit Mark Waugh Mwp Nov2014 07383
Manchester Christmas Markets: all the stuff PoundLand is too ashamed to sell Mark Waugh

9. Grown men in Christmas jumpers

Take it off. Just take it off. You don't look jolly and festive, you look like a fucking knob-end.

10. The Krankies

The Krankies? The bloody Krankies? I thought this was the 'world famous' Manchester Christmas Markets - the biggest and best Christmas markets in the UK? And the best we can drag in to open it all... the Krankies? Fan dabi fucking dozi... 

I do love Pat Karney though.

The Krankies Manchester Christmas Markets
The Krankies... The bloody Krankies... with Councillor Pat Karney

Bollocks to this. Gordo is digging out his opium pipe until it all blows over... See you in January.