"Name a dead BeeGee."
"Er... Gibb. The one who died."
"Was that a womble?"
[Fairytale of New York]
"1987! I told you it was ages ago. She's been dead for years."
"I said *comparatively* recent."
"It's still ages ago."
"Why does nobody write any Christmas songs any more? Why is it always the 70s ones?"
"What, like the Darkness, last year?"
"That was rubbish. I can't even remember it."
"Yeah, well, modern Christmas songs are rubbish."
"Why don't they write any *good* ones?"
"The 70s ones were rubbish too. It's just nostalgia."
"Well, they were catchy."
"They were rubbish."
[something by Beyoncé]
"Cor, she's fit."
"She's a slapper!"
"Well, it's the same thing."
"No it isn't! Fit is, y'know, fit. It means you *would*."
"Well, she's a slapper, so *she* would."
"But that doesn't mean *you* would! She's a three-paper-bag job."
"I think I'm losing the level of this conversation..."
"Is that Kiki Dee? Wouldn't've known what she looked like. She looks like the Butterflies woman, innit. With red hair instead."
"Kevin! Isn't it."
"Kevin Rowland. ... Our gardener's got feathers in his hat."
When it's time for tea (I don't know what a traditional Christmas Eve meal would be, but it probably wouldn't be fondue) I will switch this computer off; this evening I will do something that doesn't involve using a laptop. I need a break from staring at a screen, and I want to go to bed before midnight so that when I wake up it's Christmas for the first time.