The festive party-goers to avoid
Michael Hogan identifies the 10 most irksome types, who bring out the inner Scrooge in anyone
It’s the most wonderful time of the year. Well, it would be if it weren’t for other people. As this week hits peak Christmas party, here’s your spotter’s guide to the 10 types you will probably meet at one of them…
The peak-too-early merchant
She got all her shopping done by November and loves to boast about it. Christmas cake and pudding are already made. Now she’s busy hand-crafting twee trimmings like a Kirstie Allsopp clone.
How to spot one: Looks irritatingly relaxed, but underneath she’s tenser than Theresa May in a Brexit debate.
The festive functioning alky
The bonus of being a boozehound in December is that it becomes socially acceptable to partake pretty much all day. Which is all very well until you’re slurring, spilling stuff and getting a tad too tactile under the mistletoe by the time of the actual office party.
How to spot one: Redder nose than Rudolph, while complaining that he’s got to “do it all again tonight”.
The party-pooping Grinch
Defines themself by their faux-superiority and vocal disapproval. They bah-humbug at any festivities, joining in reluctantly or not at all, and are forever explaining how it’s all become “too commercialised”.
How to spot one: The only lunch guest not wearing a paper hat.
The public transport pest
Commuters don’t talk to each other. We’re British. Come Christmas, though, certain festive freaks commit the cardinal sin of striking up smalltalk while wearing post-party flashing antlers and yapping: “A time for family, isn’t it?” They might even ( quelle horreur) start a sing-song. Pull the emergency cord and save yourself.
How to spot one: Do your best not to or they’ll corner you for the entire journey.
The smug foodie
They’re a farmer’s market bore at the best of times but Christmas gives the gastro snobs an excuse to be even more insufferable. These wannabe Nigellas spend weekends “sourcing” ingredients (like buying but posher) and endlessly bray on about bone-in prosciutto, small batch damson gin, quince jelly and five-bird roasts, like Henry VIII without the charm.
How to spot one: They’ve contracted gout from sheer self-satisfaction.
The Christmas-crazed kidult
Probably over-compensating for some long-buried Yuletide trauma, this overgrown toddler has tinsel around his computer monitor at work, a Christmas ringtone on his phone and changes his social media handle to a festive pun. Eye-rolling resistance results in a whine of: “Come on, where’s your Christmas spirit?” Console yourself by imagining the cruel comedown on December 27.
How to spot one: The Christmas jumper and manic expression of delight for the entire month.
The surly barman
OK, so he’s sick of the Christmas compilation on the jukebox and serving tipsy once-a-year punters. But there’s no need to be a complete fun sponge. Pop the change in his tip jar and see if he cracks a smile.
How to spot one: Black shirt, stony face, air of simmering resentment. Lips get even thinner if his boss has asked him to wear a Santa hat.
The charity guilt-tripper
We all feel more charitable at Christmas but, come on, there’s a limit. Sure, we’ll donate to the food bank. OK, we’ll buy charity cards and gifts. But we draw the line at sponsoring your tedious spouse’s “Santa Run” or entering your child’s school PTA raffle. And please stop casually mentioning how you’re volunteering at a homeless shelter on Christmas Day. We know you’re trying to make us feel evil and, frankly, it’s working.
How to spot one: Earnest furrow of brow, halo above head.
The social media show-off
“It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas,” she’ll post on Dec 1, beneath an artfully filtered pic of her holding an artisanal bauble. Expect try-hard photos of tastefully decorated trees, chic door wreaths, ice-skating, cutesy nativity plays and rosy-cheeked children outside grottos.
How to spot one: Phone surgically attached to hand.
The enforced fun organiser
Someone always appoints themselves Minister of Entertainment. They over-plan the office lunch so it involves fancy dress, karaoke and party games. They insist on Secret Santa, as if you haven’t got enough shopping stresses. They sneakily try to make the last day of work another “bonding” social occasion when all you want to do is get home and collapse with your family. It’s enough to Scrooge-ify Santa himself.
How to spot one: Crying in the corner because nobody’s thanked them for all their hard work.