Marks and Spencer’s latest horrifying middle-class smugathon

There’s clearly an idea that the nation loves these M&S adverts, with its parade of unloveable celebrities, including celebrity stick insect charisma-vacuums Danni Minogue and Twiggy.

Latest among these national treasures is pasty-faced comedian Peter Kay, a man who – anecdotally – is a fairly nasty piece of work. Kay’s shtick, like many over-exposed comedians of the last decade, is deeply tiresome by now too; it’s generally a sign that someone is at least three quarters over a shark if they’re appearing in these deeply-dreary ads.

Kay appears, hilariously, doing a dance routine where he is replaced by a thin, athletic stunt double. Do you see? In an ice-skating section he glides, grinning, towards the screen like a psychotic balloon. It’s quite alarming.

Later on he does some vogueing with Twiggy, while dressed as a gay Orson Welles; and he also appears as a gay dance instructor. Swiftian.

There’s also some of the worst examples of what’s become the most wretched meme in advertising; namely women stalking, en masse, towards the camera as if they’re some kind of sassy, post-feminist zombies lusting for 100-per-cent woollen scarves or coconut body lotion.

Girls pretending to be pop stars in their bedrooms – kooky! – and sexy chicks in lingerie – cheeky! – and kids running amok in school – cutesy! Oh, and Jamie Fucking Redknapp is in it, apparently.

This is what our Christmas has become. May Santa forgive us.

Carlsberg World Cup ad treads a familiar and depressing route

I enjoyed the first two thirds or so of this. Yes, it slots into every box-ticking FUCKING FOOTY IS FUCKING BRILLIANT AND MORE IMPORTANT THAN ANYTHING! category imaginable these days.

Yes there’s the usual dodgy jingoism about it all, and, yes it’s the usual footy+lager/MacDonalds/chocolate meme we get every world cup (see also: Venables, Redknapp and Wright disaster confluence).

I like Jackie Charlton’s appearance – it’s a link back to football was a nobler, less commodified pursuit – and I like some of the voiceover; it’s almost as if it’s a reminder to overpaid, spoilt Premiership stars to buck their bloody ideas up and remember they’re not just playing for themselves.

The appearance of some of England’s foremost sportspeople is an important reminder than we’re a little country capable of great things, before it goes all foreigner-baiting with the quite astonishing “You’ll make them regret the day they took on England!’.

Worse than that, though, is the use of the images of Bobby Moore and, especially Bobby Robson. Using Robson’s image, particularly, to sell shit lager seems like the height of bad taste to me. Yes, as a Newcastle United fan, but also as a human being. The guy died less than a year ago. Jesus.

And then all hell breaks loose. Kasabian – a band I associate mainly with binge-drinking, Saturday night city-centre violence and shit gangster films – and eye-rolling ENGERLAND! bollocks and Botham twatting about in chainmail. And Aslan.

Promising start. Feeble, predictable, depressing end. Can you guess where I’m going with this?