The Christmas season is upon us, a time to savour the goodwill – and also survive the godawful – among men. In the spirit of public awareness, it seems meet for Machell to give a survey of some of the social hazards to navigate this December. The most troublesome characters come in various distinct guises but are united by their distressing ubiquity on and off the streets of Blighty. They could emerge anywhere, they’re hard to shake, and you certainly won’t pass the festive period unscathed. So, here’s a sketch of this notoriously divisive dozen – the twelve Daves of Christmas:

  1. On the first Dave of Christmas I truly have to start: the anti-Christmas bore. This Dave is assuredly the worst. He’s there for every aspect of every Christmas – but only to intone how disgraceful it all is: the ever-earlier onset of festivities, the over-the-top lights, the insufferable music, the predictable television. Of course, this Dave – the professional hater of Christmas – in the end celebrates the season’s arrival more than anyone else. A paradox to ponder.
  2. The second Dave is that chap on television who seems genuinely delighted by the fact that he is alive this Christmas – alive and thriving – to flog dross. Here he is knocking on a piece of solid oak furniture; here he is gushing over a marginally-marked-down range of showerheads; here he is stroking a stuffed penguin (non-consensually); and here he is as a tragically sprout-allergic father, cruising the supermarket aisles for some its-got-to-be-Hellman’s-flavoured Quornballs. He is, in every respect, a shocker – and yet he is foisted upon us every single Christmas.
  3. Third, we can’t escape Dave the workhorse. This is the guy who emails you, regardless of day, over the holiday period. This is the guy who expects the ‘working’ days between Christmas and New Year to wear the formal dress of a mid-October business day. Watch out for this Dave between 27 and 30 Dec. this year: his emails will begin mid-sentence and end ‘Best regards’.
  4. The fourth, and perhaps most testing, Dave is the Christmas know-it-all. This is the man who with a single arched eyebrow can guilt-trip the Christmas Eve shopper for their woefully-last-minute disorganisation; who frowns upon genuinely unorthodox approaches to present wrapping; who guesses with lamentable accuracy the contents of every wrapped gift; who gives a live-commentary dissection of any Christmas film, but running thirty seconds ahead of transmission.
  5. The next Dave is the ‘oh-come-on-it’s-Christmas’ corner-cutter. This is the guy who subsumes under the header of ‘Christmas good cheer’ every otherwise unacceptable peccadillo. He expects any meal to begin with a brace of pints; he undercuts a taxi queue at 2a.m.; he pays only half of any sum required; he expects to welcome any woman in the room with a disconcertingly precise kiss.
  6. Ah yes: Dave the New Boyfriend. It’s always an awkward business: the relationship CV is circulated at frustratingly short-notice – tabled literally at the Christmas table – and the credentials for his cadging a seat at this genuinely rare full-family gathering are dubious. But here he is, clutching a geometrically unsound Ferrero Rocher tower. The sister is delighted; the rest of the family casts a panicked eye over their unthinking seasonal foibles. This Dave is not just a game-changer at table but a troublingly competitive presence during the evening’s ineluctable board-game marathon.
  7. You’ll have been warned since you were in short trousers about Dave the Militant Secret Santa. This is the chap who takes an innocuous exchange of presents to a terrifying level of communal commitment. Spreadsheets are involved; randomisation algorithms for the ‘Gift Matrix’ are muttered in the hushed tones of sacrosanct reverence; an absurdly – no, impossibly – low spending limit is imposed, which everyone has to break in sinful silence and then dissemble. Just drop it Dave. I will happily buy you a multi-year hamper of gifts to stop this oppressive alms-war.
  8. When faced with a seasonal dribble (this, I understand, is the formal collective noun) of Daves, a character to treat with especial caution is the ironically kitsch Dave. He will doubtless be wearing heavy knitwear, sequinned with all the season’s trimmings. If the jumper’s thrown off amidst the fug of mandated mirth, there may well be a flashing tie. It’s all hilariously tongue-in-cheek, you must know. But the high street is onto this: festive kitsch is now commercialised, quotidian and crap. People are willingly buying clothing with writing on (!): were it not for the sports field and gig circuit, the very concept would be laughable.
  9. And then there’s Dave the music tyrant. Sure, it’s music, so each to their own – de gustibus and all of that jazz. But, not for this fella. It’s Christmas, so you have to let taste go to the crows. You have to love this song: you really do. ‘Yes, I know it’s by Wizzard, Wings or Wham – but it’s pure joy.’ This Dave will crop up at the office party, the pub jukebox or the supermarket queue. But perhaps his most conspicuous disguise is the working name of ‘Joolz Holland’, that increasingly unbearable host of increasingly forgettable musicians.
  10. Next, Dave the over-zealous festive decorator. Well, what an engaging medley he has worked up for neighbours and bystanders alike! The garden hosts a life-size sleigh, disconcertingly bovine reindeer and four inflatable snowmen gathering gang-wise in the corner. The wall boasts two huge signs, announcing ‘Love’ and hailing a ‘Noel’. Never met the guy, but he’s clearly a BNOC.
  11. Nor can we forget (still lest avoid) Dave the outlandish drinker. This is the guy who invents a drinking game predicated on downing a mulled wine; this itself is part of a longer-term game he calls ‘Dave’s Disaronno Sandwich’. Drink-riddled Dave is good value but, owing to his literal interpretation of being ‘filled with the Christmas spirit’, he’s not got the legs for the event.
  12. Most regrettable of all is that strange creature, Dave the public listwright. This chap is irredeemable. Not only does he indulge in the low-level business of topical listicles, but he squeezes the naive charm out of a period of communal joy. For this he humbly asks your forgiveness – best expressed @MachellsGuide.