"Just saying, the white Uno's still in the garage"

There's the adulthood where you haven't been to a Christmas market and the adulthood where you have, and it's very much sadder to be on this side of it

Are we all having fun? No, we all came here for fun, but this isn't the German Julmarkt, rosy cheeked cherubs aren't licking candy canes, an oompah band isn't playing, it's little shits who are crying because they aren't on their tablets watching Mr Beast, it's Slade and Wizzard, forever, forever

You know you're doomed by the sunk cost fallacy but you want a "win" amidst the scrum of seething wankers with plastic beer glasses, so you buy the shitty knitted reindeer made of broken glass and regret from a B&Q shed covered in fake snow, and you hand over a twenty pound note and get nothing back

Well this will be charming, a splash of gluhwein and some artisan stalls selling handcrafted whimsies, you think, and then IT'S TWENTY POUNDS FOR A ROTTING BRATWURST, YOU'RE BEING STAMPED ON IN A CRUSH OF MISERABLE PEOPLE IN DOWN COATS AT YET ANOTHER SODDING CHEESE STALL, EVERYONE IS SHOUTING

If you want to read just that bit it's the preview on Google books